


Enthalpy

by reitoei



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Masturbation, accidental emotions, dom/sub elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-20 17:29:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6018511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reitoei/pseuds/reitoei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poe finds his enemy in heat and vulnerable during a mission. Like any alpha would, he takes charge — but when he and Kylo Ren must rely on each other to get off the planet alive, what started out as an arrangement of necessity becomes something more complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. kids these days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [idiom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idiom/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [Enthalpy 热变](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6310795) by [DisneySucks (Alucard1771)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alucard1771/pseuds/DisneySucks)



> This monster of a fic is dedicated to idiom, who got me into this trash ship <3
> 
> Set post-TFA in an ABO universe. Mostly porn, tbh. You already know if this is your thing ;)  
> Thanks to [ultrathrust](http://ultrathrust.tumblr.com) for beta-ing!

 

It throws Poe off for a minute when Kylo Ren crouches down to look him in the eye in that village on Jakku. His mask gleams dully in the firelight and he leans in as if to say something — then he seems to remember himself, and he sweeps away. Poe shrugs it off. He’s met plenty of power-hungry types who like to get up close and personal with their prisoners. Usually means nothing but a world of hurt on his end.

On board the First Order star destroyer Poe is too busy having his brains scrambled by overeager stormtroopers, and later Ren himself, to notice anything further. It’s only afterward, when he wakes sweat-drenched from his nightmares, that it comes to mind — that instant of stillness. He felt it again the moment Ren entered his head. It hurt: like a blade slicing into him, like being drained of all his self-essence and filled up with something else. Like being burned up in a heat he’s never felt before. But a part of him welcomed it.

It takes him a long time to understand why the thought makes him pant and shiver.

 

By the time Finn has woken and been briefed Poe has managed to put the thing out of his mind. He’s got a lot of experience ignoring the basic facts of nature, and this is not much different. He throws himself wholeheartedly into rebuilding the Corps. There’s plenty to be done, even without the ship repairs. The General pulls them in for innumerable strategic discussions to determine key planets and ones they can afford to lose, and how to keep from giving this away in their defensive positioning. Poe doesn’t have much of a head for strategy but he does his best to keep up.

Leia’s looking better these days, like the war gives her purpose and strength. Poe doesn’t think it’s gone unnoticed among her troops.

One day after a meeting she beckons him over after everyone has been dismissed. Poe takes a seat across from her, his head spinning with the details of the latest offensive. She and him both know that all this is for nothing if Rey doesn’t make it to Skywalker. They can’t defend themselves against Snoke without the Force on their side — all they can do is delay the inevitable.

“Any word from the girl?” Poe asks, but she shakes her head.

“No, but that’s not what I wanted to speak with you about.” She gives him a reassuring smile that falls flat when he fails to return it. Her tone becomes gentle in the face of his obvious concern. “I have faith in Rey. She’s wiser than you give her credit for.”

“I still think you should have let me go with her.” He leans back in his chair. “She’s too young to be gallivanting around the galaxy on her own.”

“She has Chewie,” Leia points out. “And the Force is with her. She will find her way.”

Poe shrugs uncomfortably. He gets along with the General because she’s down to earth in a way that appeals to him, sensible and no-nonsense, but she still has her moments. He gets the paternalistic instinct of Force-sensitives — it comes naturally to him, too, never mind that everyone he’s ever met has been beta. The alpha desire to protect has always registered in him more strongly than anyone he’s heard of. Still, that doesn’t mean he agrees with all that hand-wavy _finding your path_ stuff.

“What did you want to talk about?” he asks instead.

“Finn.” She leans forward. “He’s willing and able but he’s no soldier, Dameron. I have no idea what to do with him. He’s an excellent shot but he balks at killing — I can’t possibly send him out with the troops. I’d like to assign him to you for the time being, see what you think of him.”

Poe makes a face. “The kid’s a natural with a blaster. He should be out on the battlefield.”

But his protest is only halfhearted, because he knows exactly what she’s talking about. He’s watched Finn running drills. In target practice he’s right on the mark, head-shots every time. When they drill in teams with non-lethal rounds he always hesitates. It’s a split-second difference that could mean life or death in a real combat situation. It’d be foolhardy to put him out in the field knowing that.

Neither of them have cause to complain — the lack of a killer instinct is what brought Finn to the Resistance in the first place — but it’s tough to find a place for non-infantry in an organization where every warm body is issued a blaster and put into rotation. “Look, I’ll see what I can do,” he says at last. “Tell him to come around to mine tomorrow after sim drills. I’ll show him around, see if he takes to anything.”

“Thank you.” Leia touches his hand briefly, then straightens, all business. “Now, about your formations.”

 

Finn comes by the next morning dressed in a loose shirt, casual pants and a belted robe. He looks a little like he’s playing Jedi and Poe can’t help but grin. “Staff training this morning?”

“You know it.” Finn pushes up his sleeves to show Poe the bruises darkening his forearms. “Telu sure doesn’t go easy on me. How come you get out of it?”

“I gave all that up for the starfighter, my friend. Telu had her chance to beat me up back in the day and she took ample advantage.” He opens the door all the way. “I’ve got some cream if you want?”

“Yes, _please._ ” Finn looks relieved. “This is so much worse than hand-to-hand practice.”

He sits on the edge of Poe’s bed and rubs the jelly into his skin, making a face at the smell. Poe sits back in his desk chair, legs splayed open, watching him. He’s got an open face that hides nothing, an easy way about him that’s completely unaffected. It makes Poe feel comfortable in his company, and he thinks he’d better be careful not to take advantage of that.

 

Poe is charmed by him, and he can tell the feeling is mutual. Finn follows him around like a droid, displaying unending enthusiasm for everything Poe shows him. As far as he can tell, the kid is so glad to be away from First Order that he doesn't care _where_ he ended up. He brings Finn around — and shows him off a little — and keeps him entertained; takes him out with the fellows for drinks, teaches him how to make a radio from spare parts, brings him to meetings with the General. It’s a bit of an ego boost, really, he thinks wryly as Finn holds court with a gaggle of pilots in the bar one night. Finn’s unending cheer is infectious and he’s genuinely interested in every story, but his eyes constantly seek Poe out.

Leia remains quietly approving of their burgeoning friendship. Unfortunately she’s made no moves to find Finn a permanent place, and Poe is starting to wonder if she means to at all. If he was smarter, he might be worried about his reputation taking a hit. An un-bonded alpha taking someone almost a decade younger under his wing should cause raised eyebrows even among the rough-and-tumble pilots of his Corps, although he’s well respected.

The thing is, he’s not so much worried about his reputation as he is worried about Finn’s.

Whatever the First Order taught its troopers, Finn clearly doesn’t have the first clue about dynamics or he’d be a little more wary about spending so much time with Poe. As rare as alphas are their influence in society is highly documented — and the associated scandals, perhaps even more so. Unfortunately, there’s no polite way to say ‘ _Hey, people think we’re fucking and that’s probably not a good thing_ ’.

 

“Hey,” says Poe one day, out of the blue, sticking his head over the side of the cockpit. He’s fiddling with the steering, trying to make her bank to the right a little more smoothly, while Finn solders an old motherboard back together. “So you and the girl, you, uh. That a thing?”

“Huh?” Finn looks up at him, lips pursed quizzically.

“She your sweetheart?” He raises both eyebrows in inquiry.

“Oh.” Finn shrugs. “If she wants? I like her. But I don’t know when I’ll see her again.”

Poe loosens a couple of bolts and thinks about it. “Why didn’t you go after her?”

“Well.” Finn puts his soldering iron down. “There’s you, isn’t there?”

Poe tamps down on the feeling in the pit of his stomach. He’s unexpectedly flattered by this casual assumption. “We’re not—“ He tugs the bolt a little too hard and it skips out of the wrench. “Together. I mean, you’re free to go wherever you want, you know that, right?”

He chances a look down at Finn, who’s frowning. “I know. But I thought we were…?”

“Babe.” Poe takes a deep breath and puts down his tools, hooks his elbows over the side of the cockpit. He tries for a gentle expression, but he’s never been good at this part. “I’m an alpha. I don’t make with betas.”

“You’re a what?”

“An alpha. You know, aggressive, pheromonal, got a knot on my — ?” He makes a crude gesture. Finn’s lips part in a surprised “o” and his cheeks darken.

“A knot? I thought that was just a bunch of — you know — over-exaggeration.” He’s staring up at Poe. “I thought alphas were just — betas who were all pumped up on testosterone.”

“Not so much,” Poe says wryly.

“You really don’t like betas?” And damned if he doesn’t look disappointed. But not heartbroken, Poe thinks, which is something to be thankful for. Alpha pheromones can be pretty overwhelming; not everyone gets off easy.

“Not in that sense.” Poe shrugs, his casualness only half affectation. That’s the tough part over and done with. Now he just has to answer a hundred questions about his orientation — which is easy, he does that every time one of the pilots gets too drunk to be discreet. “Some alphas fuck betas, but I figure that’s not fair. One day I might meet an omega, and then what am I gonna do, dump my beta partner like so much space debris? Besides, you pass up an omega because you’re with someone, you might not get another chance.”

“Huh.” Finn nods like he’s actually interested, which, well, he probably is. “I get that. So omegas are like, something special for you.”

Poe grins; he can’t help it. He gets this feeling whenever he thinks about his omega. It’s that overwhelming, all-encompassing warmth that keeps him on the straight and narrow. He’s not idealistic — he knows there’s a good chance he’ll never even meet an omega, let alone one who’s just right for him — but that connection is still worth waiting for, worth passing up good people for. “Kid, you have no idea.”

 

After that, he’s not altogether surprised when Finn announces he’s leaving.

“It’s not because of you,” Finn says, rubbing his neck. “Well, maybe a bit. Not that I’m hung up on you or anything, but — I stuck around mostly because of you. Rey’s got no one, except for maybe Luke Skywalker, and nothing against him but she could probably use a friend. So I’m going out on the next freighter to Kath II. I’ve already told General Organa.”

It isn’t as though Finn’s been avoiding him, but he’s been uncharacteristically quiet the last couple of weeks. He suspects Finn made the decision pretty quick and has been psyching himself up to tell people. Poe pats him on the shoulder. “Good for you,” he says. “If anyone’s got what it takes to follow her across the galaxy, it’s you.”

Finn turns and grabs him into a hug and Poe wraps his arms around him. “Sorry,” Finn mumbles into his shoulder. “I feel like I’m being kind of selfish.”

“You’re allowed to be.” Poe pulls back and touches his cheek. “Come on. You’re doing the right thing.”

Finn nods firmly, as if to reassure himself. “Yeah. She needs me.”

He’s tempted to tell Finn what Leia told him: that Rey’s not as alone as they think. But although he’s not really the kind of person to admit it, he figures this is how the Force works — it brings people together when they most need it.

“You could come with me,” Finn suggests as they separate. It’s tempting, he has to admit. He’s always liked to imagine that life could be one grand adventure after another. The truth is, he’s too sensible to really believe it. Besides, he’s got responsibilities here and the Resistance can’t spare him. Even for a good cause.

“This one’s all yours,” he says. “Tell you what, I’ll talk to some people, find a couple private charters. It’ll ease your way, at least for the first leg of the journey. You’ll have to work for passage, but it’s better than being crammed into a loaded freighter.”

“Thanks.” Finn slings an arm over his shoulder with a grin. “One more thing. Teach me how to play sabbac before I go?”

 

He manages to arrange passage for Finn all the way to Shumavar. He has to call in more than one favour to do it. Not many privateers are interested in taking on extra cargo as the conflict escalates, particularly toward the Outer Rim where sectors are beginning to come under dispute. A passenger traveling alone raises some eyebrows. Naturally he doesn’t tell them Finn’s real destination, because even though most everyone in this galaxy would be happy to see the First Order burn he doesn’t doubt one or two of them would trade in an ex-‘trooper with knowledge of the whereabouts of the legendary planet Ahch-to for a tidy sum from General Hux.

As it turns out, however, he leaves the base before Finn on a mission of his own.

“I know it may be a fool’s mission,” says General Organa to the assembly at large — a small gathering today, so Poe understands this meeting is meant to be kept quiet, “but now that we have located Luke, we must hope that he will soon return to us. Though we haven’t been idle — far from it — we have neglected a key part of our defence against Snoke and his apprentice.”

There is a murmur among the gathered people, and Poe catches snatches of confusion through his translator. “There is no defence against the dark side of the Force,” says Major Brance.

“Except the Jedi,” says Leia. “They have always brought balance to the Force, and Luke knew that as well. It was why he opened up the Jedi Temple once more. Unfortunately, for many years there has been no one to teach the younglings, so the fact that we have been without a temple has been inconsequential. Now, however, I wish to seek out the Force sensitive and bring them into the fold before Snoke pre-empts us and hunts them down himself.

I’m sending my best pilot to Neree to find the Jedi Temple there and access its library. I hope that within the library lie the secrets of how the old Jedi order located their candidates.”

The room swells with chatter. More than a few turn to look at Poe in inquiry, but he shakes his head. He had no idea she was planning this, either. It makes sense, of course. If they’re going to rebuild a Temple of their own they’ll need young Jedi hopefuls. He doesn’t doubt that Snoke will soon realize this as well.

“Time is of the essence now. If we act before the First Order has a chance to recuperate their losses we’ll have the advantage.” She folds her hands together on the table and casts a sharp eye around the room. “Any questions?”

After the meeting he remains in his chair, and Leia looks up from where she is reallocating resources on her holopad. She swipes away the inventory sheets and brings something else up, sliding the pad over to him. “The mission details are here. You’ll take four ships with you to the Sulorine system and split with them there. Go on to Neree alone, and fly dark.”

“A single ship has a better chance of going unnoticed.” Poe nods. The mission is straightforward: fly without shields or locators, find the Jedi Temple on Neree and gain access to the library. If he remembers his history, Neree has never been a planet of much note and its temple had been abandoned and had fallen into ruin like many others after the Battle of Endor. Their library would be small, but mostly intact. “Why now, after all this time? Why not gather and protect the Force-sensitive children before?”

“It would have been too risky. Snoke will know what we’re up to as soon as we begin — he’ll see it in the Force.”

“Right now we hardly have resources enough for our own people, never mind a group of children,” he points out.

Leia frowns down at her linked hands. “I know. And I wish this could be done in a time of peace, but we have no way of knowing how long the war will go on for. The First Order raised soldiers from infancy, so we must do the same if we are to match them in strength.”

Poe nods slowly. “Well, you know I’ll get what you need. When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow,” Leia tells him. “There’s no time to lose.”

 


	2. warm welcome

Poe leaves the main ship in the Sulorine system with a feeling of relief. He doesn’t like extended hyperspace travel — it makes him sick. He’s still got two jumps to get to Neree, but the fighter handles like a dream once he enters real-space. He’s glad to have spent the extra time on her steering.

X-wings are pretty distinctive — hard to mistake that silhouette for anything else, no matter what generation it is — but Poe is flying shields and radar down, and he doesn’t think anyone in this sparsely inhabited system will pick up on his presence. That means he can’t pick up on anyone else, either, but he’s got enough experience in close-space combat that he’s not worried about enemies sneaking up on him.

The journey has taken longer than they expected. Held up two jumps back by an unexpected First Order barricade, they’d had to sneak out into deep space in order to activate the hyperdrive, adding a good Standard week to their travel time. Poe is both frustrated with the delay and worried that the First Order may be making inroads into previously neutral space, and he has no way to relay this back to the General without potentially giving away his position. All he can do is keep a log like he always does and hope that’ll be good enough.

Neree is an unfriendly planet, not quite on par with the ice-fields of Hoth, but cold and dry at its poles and mountainous near the equator. It’s small, more of a planetoid than a true planet, quite close to its cool red sun, and with an almost circular orbit. Its surface is bisected by a single ocean separating the dry land into two continents of roughly equal size and climate, giving it quite a striking appearance from space. Poe has done his research; there is only one sentient native species, but like any planet with a space port, however humble, it has its share of immigrants. The natives have a nomadic lifestyle tracking their oceanic prey as it migrates endlessly around the planet, but the territory around the port is dotted with a series of small permanent villages. There is nothing which immediately suggests a Jedi Temple. He’ll have to search the planet sector by sector, the old fashioned way.

 

He begins in the most hospitable zone, a swath a little more than four hundred kliks on either side of the ocean that’s got a more temperate climate in spite of the mountainous terrain. He’s lucky — the skies are clear and there’s very little air traffic, affording him higher visibility than usual. Still, on his first pass around the planet he sees nothing but a smattering of temporary settlements and well traveled roads. He veers off north before he comes up on the space port and makes camp for the fourth night.

He wakes up the next morning to the distinctive whine of another X-wing fighter.

“What the hell?” Dropping out of the foldout bunk in the back of the cockpit, he scrambles to the controls and rolls back the cockpit cover. The sky is lightening already and two of Neree’s moons peek out from behind the mountains while the third looms over him. As he watches, three fighters screech past him on the left in the traditional reconnaissance formation. They’re wearing Resistance colours. For a moment all he can do is gape at them, and then they’re gone.

A few minutes later he hears them circling back around for another fly-over. He’s ready and zipped into his flight suit with his colours flying from the droid cockpit. He waits until they’ve passed to fire up the engine. After a moment’s hesitation he readies the guns. He’s left BB-8 back on the main ship so there’s no-one to navigate if he gets into trouble, but if need be he can shoot and fly at the same time.

He sticks close to the ground and follows their heat signature for about a hundred kliks northward. There’s nothing up here but flat tundra, and it’s not long before he can see where they’ve gone. There’s a dark, jagged line just below the horizon where the ground has cracked open, leaving a deep canyon that snakes off in either direction as far as the eye can see. He slows the fighter down and creeps closer, edging along so near to the ground the he can almost feel the snow skimming off her belly.

He’s thinking he should land and approach on foot when three more fighters come down out of the sky like thunderbolts.

“Aw, shit,” Poe swears, pulling up. They’re faster than they should be — and if he’s not mistaken those are T-50’s doctored up to look like T-70’s. Although they could turn on a dime back when he flew them they also couldn’t accelerate for shit, so obviously someone’s jacked up their fuel system.

They come up on his tail sooner than he’d like. He flips over them and drops down, aiming back toward the canyon. None of them have raised Resistance colours in response to his flags. Two of them flank him easily while the third struggles a bit to mimic his maneuver, trying to pull its nose down. Still, they’re good flyers. He pulls the fuel line open a bit and takes advantage of her modified engine boost, giving her a bit of lead. He can leave them in the dust for now but the boost slows him down in the long run; he won’t be able to use it indefinitely.

He darts ahead, aiming for about five hundred meters above the canyon so he can make a controlled dive inside. As he tips his nose down two more doctored X-wings burst out of the canyon on either side of him, straight out of the wreckage of a familiar ship.

On pure instinct Poe slams the autopilot controls and drags the in-cockpit trigger up from between his legs. He fires before he remembers to pull up the shield and the fighter on his left gets in a solid hit to his wing. The ship rocks violently as they careen toward the massive dark Upsilon sprawled across the canyon floor. There’s no way he can pull out of a dive and defend himself at the same time — and regardless, the second he’d raised his shields every ship in the vicinity would’ve read his signature.

He’ll have to make a run for it, go dark, and hope he can shake them off his tail for long enough to complete the mission — because the ruined ship in that canyon belongs to Kylo Ren, and he isn’t eager to get up close and personal with anyone who’s got the firepower to take out a First Order command shuttle. Poe is pretty sure that ‘enemy of my enemy’ doesn’t apply when they’re shooting at you.

He takes back the controls and pulls up and to the left, forcing the fighter next to him to duck away or crash into him. Most pilots, no matter how bold, have a strong enough sense of self-preservation that they’ll flinch away from a head-on collision. He skims over the fallen Upsilon and its TIE escorts, heading straight down the canyon. There are four fighters on his tail now. He pulls up diagnostics with one hand and sorts through the damage quickly; nothing a droid couldn’t fix, if he had one, but there’s a crack in the shield generator that’s sucking power from the main engine and one of the two is going to fail if he can’t get out of firing range and lower the shields.

The fighters figure out pretty quick that the high ground will give them an advantage, which Poe was hoping they wouldn’t. He’s forced out of the canyon sooner than he’d like. They chase him south-east across the tundra until he pulls a showy turn and doubles back, shooting at them before they realize what’s happening. He hits one and leaves it wounded, limping along to a halt on the icy scrubland as he heads back toward the fallen ship with the others in tow.

There was a trail leading north out of the canyon, he recalls, where the ground buckled upward into low foothills and offered some cover. It’s a strong indication that there had been survivors from the wreckage.

With only three of them left in pursuit the fighters can’t box him in, but they manage a triangle offensive that has him weaving up and down to avoid catching fire on his failing shields, wasting fuel and mileage. As he reaches the foothills he deploys his one and only heat-seeking rocket, a massive thing that gives him a bit of a boost as it launches backward from between the thrusters. His fighter leaps forward as she’s relieved of her burden — those damn things are heavy, though he’s glad he thought to load one in. It heads straight for the trailing ship, which drops out of the sky in an evasive maneuver. He dives toward the tundra and scoots between two sheer cliff faces where tectonic activity has turned the smooth foothills into jagged-edged death-traps. The two remaining fighters follow him, but he outstrips the heavier T-50’s even with their improvements. Part of being a pilot is the willingness to do utterly suicidal things like fly blind through a valley with unknown topography, and he’s betting on the fact that they aren’t eager to risk their lives over a single Resistance ship.

Sure enough, as the valley narrows he realizes he’s lost them. He rolls around to the far side of the hill and drops gently out of the sky to hover just above ground, waiting. Half an hour passes before he feels confident they’re well and truly gone. They’ll give him trouble when he leaves Neree, he’s sure — as soon as he hits the stratosphere he figures he’ll have to pull his shields up and fly like his tail’s on fire straight on through to D’quar, if the hyperdrive will hold up. But for now they’ll be licking their wounds and biding their time.

 

The shields are shot. Poe hasn’t got the spare parts to fix the generator so that it doesn’t drain the rear engine, and neither does he have the expertise. That’s what droids are for.

The engine itself is in worse shape than he’d like, the pressure drain from the shield generator loosening the seal around the engine compressor so it leaks when he turns the engine over. He won’t be able to fly home like this — he needs to do repairs.

But the mission comes first. He has an idea about that: Kylo Ren can only be on Neree for one reason, and if he’s trying to find the Jedi Temple first Poe figures his best bet will be to follow his trail. Beating him to it would be better, but he doesn’t have enough fuel to search sector by sector. He can worry about how to get past Ren when he gets there.

He picks up the trail after an hour of searching. The X-wings must’ve been looking for it, too, but it’s well disguised; it’s only by chance he spots it, and he has to land and follow it on foot until he’s sure he knows what to look for from above.

It looks like a party of troopers, maybe seven, though the prints are muddled. He stops at the first camp a few hours north of the canyon. It’s been abandoned maybe a few days, maybe more — it’s hard to tell. The red sun is setting and a chill is setting in. Poe spends twenty minutes canvassing the area and finds little in the way of clues about their number, weapons, or supplies. The troopers are experienced at traveling incognito, and he’s tired and frustrated by the time he climbs back into the fighter to pull on his thermals.

The ship keeps out the worst of the cold, so he takes the opportunity to sleep. He’s plagued by visceral, emotional dreams that he can’t remember when he wakes up, which leave him feeling dissatisfied.

It has snowed in the night and the trail is harder to follow now, much of it covered by fresh powder. He stops several times to check for signs, careful not to muddy the ground and foul up the tracks. Luckily he’s higher in the mountains now and the densely packed snow underneath maintains its integrity.

He passes four more makeshift camps. By the fourth, although it’s nearing the end of the day, he’s eager to continue and he has a gut feeling the nature of which he can’t quite put his finger on which tells him he’s close to his destination.

 

The Jedi Temple is built right into the mountainside at the head of an otherwise featureless alpine valley. He comes on it suddenly as he exits the hanging valley and banks sharply to the left — there it is in the cool light of the sun, framed by two monolithic stone pillars. Switchback stairs lead up to it from the base of the mountain. Snow drifts have piled up on the entrance plateau, but he sees nothing in the darkness beyond that. There are signs that others have been here already, though.

He takes the fighter in close and lands smoothly on the plateau. Her nose nudges just inside the shadow of the temple. Poe buckles up his outer suit and trades his flexible flying gloves for a pair of more serviceable mitts, and, taking a deep breath, opens the cockpit.

The wind is picking up outside, whistling between the ruins that surround him. He’s got a blaster strapped to his hip, but he has no illusions that it’ll do him any good if Kylo Ren is here.

He waits for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim interior of the temple. It’s not completely dark; someone has activated the emergency lowlights, giving the room a reddish glow. Arched, empty windows span the front of the entrance hall, the architecture grand but outdated and impractical for a planet like this. Built at a time when the Jedi had great influence and patronage, he thinks.

The large, open entrance funnels into several smaller corridors, and he picks one at random. His steps echo off the bare walls. The doors between sections have all been left ajar, as if someone left — or entered — in a hurry. He wonders what the Temple would have been like at the peak of the Jedi Order — welcoming and full of life, or cold and still like it is now?

Distracted, he doesn’t see the bodies until he’s almost tripped over them. The armour clatters under his feet and he leaps back, startled, drawing his blaster before he realizes the Stormtroopers are all dead.

They’re scattered between him and the door at the end of the hall. Their outer armour is scored with black marks, the heavy material scorched in some places and melted through in others. Some of them have not even drawn their weapons. He raises his blaster and walks carefully through them. His nerves are sizzling like he’s about to step into a firefight, but he hears nothing from behind the door. He readies himself and pushes it open.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The room is warmly lit by wall sconces, and a high window above the door lets in the rich, almost purple light of the setting sun. A long passage stretches out before him. On either side are shelves and seating areas and servers with access terminals. This is the Temple of Neree’s library.

He steps out onto the floor. There’s a harsh clang behind him as the door slams shut.

“Oh, hell.” He pivots and fires instinctively at the dark figure who steps toward him. Kylo Ren blocks his shots with ease, intercepting each blast with a brilliant arc of his lightsaber. He steps forward and his dark robe flares around him. He’s unmasked, his face lit by the sinister glow of the saber. The scar that bisects his cheek is livid against his pale skin.

“It’s _you_ ,” he snarls, raising the saber to his shoulder.

Poe steps back and keeps his aim steady. “Expecting someone else, were you?”

There’s something wrong with Ren, something he can’t quite put his finger on — some sort of smell that tickles the back of his brain. He’s moving slowly, as if he’s hurt. A sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead.

Ren lunges forward and swings his lightsaber around almost faster than Poe can follow and Poe drops into a defensive roll — and then, oddly, as he comes up on the other side of the saber, Ren stumbles and his swing goes wide. He throws a hand out to brace himself against the wall.

Poe steps back out of reach.

“I smelled you.” Ren goes still, his shoulders heaving.

Curiosity overtakes Poe’s more sensible instincts and he lowers his blaster slowly. “You can smell me?”

“I could smell your alpha stink the second you landed,” Ren rasps. It seems to be all he can manage. His legs buckle and he collapses to the floor, his lightsaber going dark and skittering out of his hand. Shock hits Poe like a punch to the gut as he gets it — Ren smells like _omega_.

Ren folds into himself and draws his robe around him. He’s breathing harshly. Poe fights the instinctual tug that pulls him forward, grips the blaster with hands that won’t stay steady.

He should go. He should turn around and get back in the fighter and leave. Ren is in heat. He’ll be dead in two days without suppressants or an alpha — Poe can wait two days and come back for the library.

But he can’t.

He sheaths the blaster, fingers fumbling around the leather holster. He takes one step forward, then another, until he stands over Ren. Ren is shaking. He’s been in heat for some time already; Poe knows the signs, and like every alpha he’s carefully attuned to omega biology. Slowly, he crouches next to Ren.

A hand shoots out and grabs his wrist in an iron grip. Ren raises his head, his eyes rimmed with red. “Please,” he says hoarsely.

It’s all Poe can stand. He pulls his glove off and lets it fall, places his hand over Ren’s cool, bare fingers on his arm. A low whine emerges from Ren’s throat and he pulls almost painfully at Poe’s arm.

“Okay,” Poe says, drawing a breath and tightening his grip on Ren’s hand. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Ren drops his head and his hand falls away. This far in, he shouldn’t even be coherent enough to stand or speak. Poe doesn’t know how he’s keeping it together. He reaches down and loops an arm under Ren carefully. He’s shaking like he’s going to come apart, but he seems to get the picture; he gets his arm over Poe’s shoulder and edges in closer to him.

“We can’t do this here,” Poe says. “Did you make camp?”

“There are quarters,” Ren says hoarsely. “For visiting dignitaries.”

He gets his feet under him and Poe lifts him up. He’s slim and tall — though he’s broad-shouldered, he seems to weigh nothing at all. Poe can feel himself responding to the pheromones of an omega in distress already. Everywhere they touch his skin warms. The smell is thickening, surrounding him, cloying and overwhelming. Ren leans on him heavily but he supports the extra weight without effort.

He leads Ren back toward the door. He seems to have spent his energy, barely able to shuffle next to Poe. After a moment’s thought, Poe kicks the lightsaber into the shadows. Ren doesn’t even seem to notice.

On the other side of the door Ren hesitates before the fallen troopers. Poe follows his gaze to the bodies at their feet, but he says nothing. Ren follows him through the carnage without a word.

 

Halfway down the corridor Ren stops. “Wait.”

Poe waits, but he figures out quickly enough that nothing’s wrong — Ren is just tired from exertion. He pulls Ren forward mercilessly. “No. It’s only going to get worse.”

“Just let me rest,” Ren hisses, and the resistance sparks a familiar anger in Poe. It’s the frustration he feels when other people aren’t doing things the way he knows they should be done, an alpha’s overbearing instinct that has no place in the kind of society he’s always been a part of. There’s a reason beta society looks down on alphas and omegas, ruled by their hormones and their impulses. He turns and shoves Ren against the wall, more rough than he needs to be.

“I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do,” he says fiercely, “and I’d never forgive myself for doing anything else. But if you want my help, you have to do as I say. You sit here and rest and soon you’ll be too weak to move, understand?”

Ren whines and tilts his head back in respondse, exposing the long line of his neck. Instinctively Poe crowds him into the wall, one hand sliding up to wrench his head back and keep his neck bared. The sight makes his mouth water. He clenches his fist briefly in Ren’s hair and then takes a deep breath and releases him. Ren shudders and slumps into him.

“I know how bad it gets,” Ren says. “I could die.”

Poe growls and presses closer, his gut clenching at the words. “So trust me.”

“I just need — something.” He fumbles weakly at the straps of Poe’s flight suit, his forehead pressing into the crook of Poe’s neck, seeking skin.

Poe pushes his hands away gently. “I’m not fucking you in the hallway.” He deftly unfastens Ren’s heavy robe and lets it drop, leaving him in his dark underclothing. His cock pushes insistently against the front of his pants. Poe reaches down and grips him through the cloth, surprised at his own eagerness to touch. It’s been a long time since he’s been with anyone. Objectively, Ren is beautiful — broad and big, with pale, smooth skin and a petulant mouth — and Poe wants to dig his fingers into every vulnerable part of him and make him beg.

He squeezes Ren’s cock and Ren lets out a choked gasp. “Please.”

“Yeah,” Poe murmurs, gently sliding his hand up the shaft. He pulls Ren’s pants down around his thighs and goes to his knees. “I’m just going to take the edge off —“

“Not like this,” Ren whines, gripping his shoulder. Poe inhales his sweet scent, hardly listening. He takes Ren’s cock in one hand and presses a kiss to the leaking slit, slowly sliding his lips around the head until it’s stretching his mouth open.

Ren makes a noise and his hips jerk forward. He grips Ren’s thigh firmly. He pulls off slowly and relishes the way Ren’s cock opens him up, the way it’s too big to be comfortable, swallows it back down equally slow. Ren is squirming, pushing his cock against the back of Poe’s mouth, and he jerks his head back before he chokes.

“Fuck,” he hisses as Ren reaches back and presses too many shaking fingers against his hole. “No, no, here, let me —“

He sucks Ren off with two fingers in him. Poe wants to _wreck_ him, wants to give in and get his cock in that sweet clenching ass and fuck him till he doesn’t know his own name, wants to knot him up and make him fat with pups, like every alpha stereotype he’s ever heard. But he goes slow and gentle, opens Ren up until he’s loose and pliable and gasping from it.

It doesn’t take long. Ren’s mouth opens soundlessly as he comes. He stiffens and his fingers sink into Poe’s shoulder until it’s almost painful. Poe swallows and pulls back, wiping his mouth.

He stands up just as Ren’s knees buckle. “Whoa,” he says, holding him up. “Okay, babe. Time to go find a bed.”

 

The dignitaries’ quarters are _comfortable_ , which is far more than Poe was expecting. He’s pathetically grateful that the Jedi didn’t expect their guests to sleep on whatever utilitarian cots they themselves did. This part of the temple is well-preserved, too, deep inside the mountain and out of the elements. The lights still activate when they enter, though they’re weak from years of disuse. Ren is walking easier but he hasn’t looked at Poe and a deep, red flush has spread across his cheeks. His deference is a reaction to the presence of an alpha, Poe knows. It’s comforting to know that this aspect of biology trumps even the strongest loyalties.

He knows he can fuck Kylo Ren, omega. He isn’t sure he could fuck Kylo Ren, apprentice to the dark side and commander in the First Order.

He lowers Ren to sit on the bed and kneels, unlacing his boots. Ren props himself up on his elbows and peers down at Poe, his dark eyelashes barely brushing his cheeks, his cock still jutting stiffly up in front of Poe’s face, one orgasm nowhere near enough to assuage the worst of his needs. Poe slides his hand firmly up Ren’s bare calf as he eases the boot off. Ren’s eyes flutter shut.

“Just fuck me,” he groans. “Stop teasing.”

“You shouldn’t even be speaking in full sentences at this point,” Poe says, half admiringly. He removes the other boot with an equal amount of care and Ren moans in frustration, falling back onto the bed. He pulls his feet back as soon as Poe’s done and strips off his pants and shirt, stretching out naked and flushed on the sheets.

Poe unbuckles his flight suit in record time.

 

The smell filling the room is heavy and dizzying. Poe boxes Ren in with his thighs and licks his jaw where it’s rough with stubble, scenting him eagerly. His fingers sink into Ren’s slim hip, holding him down.

“Yeah,” Ren moans breathily. “Come on.”

He’s trying to buck up into Poe, his cock sliding over Poe’s stomach ineffectively. “Shh.” Poe strokes Ren’s hip with his thumb. His teeth close around Ren’s jaw and he bites none too gently, giving into the urge to leave a mark. Ren makes a sharp noise in the back of his throat.

“You want to be marked up?” Poe licks the mark and moves down his neck and sucks sloppy, wet kisses into the smooth skin there. He bears down with his teeth in the crook of Ren’s neck, a rough imitation of a claiming bite. Ren arches up against him. He’s so responsive, opening up for Poe so easily. Poe slides his hand firmly down, running his thumb along the crease of Ren’s groin and cupping his fingers under his balls to rub them against his hole. He’s sopping wet and open, takes three fingers easily now.

“Ah!” Ren grips his shoulder tightly and clenches around his fingers. His head falls back against the pillow.

“Oh yeah,” Poe groans, working his fingers in and out. “You’re so ready for my knot.”

Ren pants and writhes back onto his hand. His mouth goes slack and he keens softly every time Poe thrusts his fingers in, like it’s too much but he wants it anyway. Poe braces himself on his elbow and pushes two fingers into Ren’s mouth roughly, sliding them along his bottom lip. Ren makes a hurt sound and his cock jerks between them, spilling precome onto his stomach. He laves his tongue over Poe’s fingers sloppily.

“Fuck,” Poe swears, pulling back. He rubs his wet finger over Ren’s high cheekbone, leaving a streak of spit there. Ren looks utterly debauched. His eyes are shut and he’s sprawled across the bed, one hand clutching at Poe’s thigh and the other flat against the mattress like he needs to ground himself. A warm pink flush spreads from his cheeks to his chest and his soft, peaked nipples. His cock lies flat against his belly, the head shiny and dark, and his legs nudge hopefully at the insides of Poe’s thighs.

When Ren opens his eyes they’re dark with need. His gaze is heavy and warm and something about it makes Poe feel laid open, vulnerable. He reaches down unthinkingly and puts his palm over Ren’s eyes.

Ren’s eyelashes flutter against his skin and he inhales sharply through his nose. With his other hand Poe bends one of Ren’s knees, then the other, until he’s splayed open and shivering with want. He takes his cock in his hand and slowly slides it through the mess between Ren’s legs. Ren whines high in his throat. He’s thoroughly nonverbal now, deep in omega headspace, and Poe hasn’t even knotted him, has barely touched him, isn’t even letting him _look_ at the alpha who’s fucking him.

The head of his cock pulls at the rim of Ren’s ass as he teases and suddenly he wants nothing more than to _take_.

He thrusts in with quick, short strokes. Ren’s slippery heat opens easily for him. A moan tears itself from his throat as he bottoms out, burying the sensitive base of his cock where his knot will swell in the tight ring of muscle inside Ren’s ass. Ren shudders around him and he pushes in deeper until he’s fucking him with hard, shallow strokes that nudge him up the bed, rougher than he probably should be in a way that he can’t help. Ren takes it so passively, the arch of his back begging for more. All of his pretensions fall away and he’s just an omega writhing under Poe for his knot. Poe lifts his hand from Ren’s eyes and grips his hair, pulls his head back, and runs his nose up Ren’s long, slim neck to breathe in his heady scent.

“I’m gonna —“ he gasps, squeezing his eyes shut and burying his face in Ren’s neck. “I’m gonna knot you so good, sweetheart, fill you up and make you mine. You want that?”

Ren keens in response and Poe folds himself around him and pulls out until the head of his cock is barely inside Ren, holding him open for as long as he can stand. When Ren’s noises reach a desperate pitch he drives back into his ass, feeling his knot throb and grow in response. His orgasm builds in the pit of his stomach and comes over him in a wave, sending him shuddering and tumbling over the edge as he buries himself inside Ren. His knot swells and locks them together. He can’t stop rocking gently against Ren, riding the aftershocks. As he comes down he realizes he’s gripping Ren too tightly to himself, that Ren is whimpering and pushing his still hard cock up against Poe’s stomach, clutching at Poe’s shoulders.

Poe loosens his hold. Ren peers up at him from under his damply clumped lashes, his eyes half-closed and wet with desperate tears, lips parted, cheeks fever-red and hot to the touch.

“Shh.” Poe soothes him, almost unconsciously stroking his scarred cheek with one thumb. He reaches down with his free hand and blindly fumbles for Ren’s cock and Ren bucks up into his hand. He runs his palm over the wet tip and down the shaft, gripping it loosely and sliding the foreskin up over the head. He jerks Ren slowly until Ren arches off the bed and cries out, spilling over his fist. He tightens around Poe’s knot and Poe rolls his hips forward and pushes another spurt of come into him, panting. It’s never been this intense with betas, never this all-consuming. He feels like he’s coming out of his skin.

He lets himself drop and covers Ren’s body with his own. Slowly, Ren runs shaking hands over his back. Poe hums contentedly at the touch and pushes his nose against Ren’s soft skin.

 

When he wakes up it’s dark in the room. His core muscles ache, but it must be nothing compared to Ren’s thighs, which are still splayed wide around him. He presses Ren’s knee up to his chest gently and turns him, careful not to pull too hard on the knot. It hasn’t subsided completely yet and every movement is a sharp, bright tug in his gut that has him gritting his teeth. He curves himself around Ren and thrusts up into him, moaning at the wet slide around his cock. Ren rumbles deep in his chest, reaching back to push at his hips.

“Too much,” he mumbles. Poe reaches between his legs to stroke the rim of his asshole where it’s stretched tight and slick with fluids and come that’ve leaked out around Poe’s knot. He scoops the mess with three fingers and slicks up Ren’s soft cock, which twitches with interest. He pushes one finger carefully inside the foreskin and rubs it around the head. Ren grabs his wrist. “Stop that.”

“I want you to come on my knot,” Poe growls lowly. He licks the back of Ren’s neck, laving his tongue over the rounded, delicate knobs of his spine.

“I don’t need it.” But Ren’s cock is thickening, big and heavy between his legs. His breath hitches as Poe pushes himself deeper inside him.

“You want it.”

He drags Ren’s foreskin up with his fingertips and then pushes it down away from his cock head. Ren yanks his hand up and sinks his teeth into the palm, pushing down to meet Poe’s thrusts. He makes a startled noise as Poe squirms around and changes his angle, aiming for Ren’s prostate, and then repeats his exclamation when Poe starts to fuck him in earnest, as best he can with so little leverage. He runs his fingers over Ren’s soft, pale nipples and Ren curls up, yanking Poe in closer by his hip, his moans becoming loud and open-mouthed.

He pulls at the knot inch by inch until it becomes almost painful, drops his head down to watch Ren’s hole stretch around it at the thickest part, red and obscene.

“Greedy fucking alpha,” Ren gasps, thrusting back to seat himself on Poe’s cock. Poe twists his nipples between two fingers and he comes abruptly, his cock spurting over the bed. He squeezes around Poe’s cock and Poe lets out a “Hah,” and fucks him until his sweet, tight heat is too much and he lets go.

Later he half wakes as Ren pulls off him and rolls away. Ren mumbles something indistinct and Poe flings out an arm toward him, falling asleep again between one breath and the next.

 

 


	4. frenemies

If there was anything Poe expected in the aftermath, it wasn’t waking up to Kylo Ren’s lightsaber at his throat.

He scrambles backward on instinct, his heart making a bid for his throat. Ren’s dark robes flare around him and his face is twisted in an expression Poe can’t read. “Where are your men?” he demands.

“What?” Poe casts about, but his blaster is nowhere to be seen and his clothes are scattered across the floor.

“Your men. The fighters. Tell me their positions,” Ren growls. The lightsaber spits and wavers, way too close for comfort. Poe presses himself up against the headboard, forcing himself to breathe deeply. He focuses on Ren’s words.

“I came here alone,” he says.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Ren jerks backward and powers his saber down. He thrusts the hilt into his belt. “Did you think you could lie in wait, cripple my ship — hunt me down when I’m weak — !” He hisses in frustration, clenching his fists. “You took something that wasn’t yours to ask for! Tell me where they are. Either we both walk out of here alive, or neither of us do.”

Poe watches him steadily. His face is drawn, his shoulders stiff. He looks barely improved from the night before, still in the throes of his heat. Something about what he’s saying clicks in Poe’s head. “The ships that shot you down aren’t mine,” he says. “We’ve never used T-50’s. Those are someone else’s ships painted up to look like ours.”

Ren looks disbelieving. “Why would anyone do that?”

“Why would I bring a bunch of fighters and risk giving away the purpose of my mission to the enemy?” Poe counters, straightening.

“But then who —“ Ren narrows his eyes. “Hux.”

Poe rolls off the bed and picks up his underclothes and his outer wear, depositing them on the coverlet. His flight suit lies crumpled near the door. He sits down on the edge of the bed and tugs his clothes on, his mind already moving ahead to the mission — the _mission_ , what the hell has he been thinking — and how to escape from this mess without getting himself killed. He ignores the twinge in his muscles, the ache that reminds him suddenly of Ren’s skin and his tight, clenching ass and his scent. Omega pheromones still linger in the air. Poe can’t leave him yet without risking relapse, but with some luck and fast talking he can mitigate the oncoming damage. “I thought you guys were on the same team.”

“Hux is not on my _team_.” Ren seems to realize what Poe is doing. He throws out a hand and suddenly Poe is frozen in place. A sharp spike of frustration darts through him at the casual way Ren restrains him. “In fact, I will take great pleasure at the look on his face when he realizes I have evaded his petty attempt at revenge.”

“I don’t know if murder really counts as _petty revenge_ ,” Poe manages with some difficulty. Funny, he thinks, Ren’s Force-hold isn’t as strong as he remembers.

“Shut up. I’m thinking.” He releases Poe and begins to pace the room. Poe staggers back, rubbing his chest. It may not be as strong, but it certainly isn’t any more pleasant. “Where is your ship?”

“Outside.” Poe pulls on his shirt. “But believe me, you won’t get far with her. She needs a new shield generator and engine repairs. Two days’ worth of work, at least, and parts. Those fighters did a number on me, too.”

“I thought you were the best pilot in the Resistance,” Ren sneers. Poe shrugs, tamping down on the reflexive anger in his gut.

“It was five on one. I did pretty well.” He laces up his boots and stands. “Look, the way I see it we only have one option. We hide the ship, head south toward the spaceport and pick up the parts we need, get out into open space and get the hell away from each other. Like you said, both of us make it out of here alive or neither of us do.”

“Or I leave you here and take your ship,” Ren says.

“Oh, of course, and die in three days anyway if you don’t miraculously run into another alpha. My mistake.” Poe folds his arms. Ren stops pacing.

“What do you mean?”

“My pheromones are the only thing keeping you alive right now. Without them you’ll be right back where you started.” Watching the dawning look of horror on Ren’s face, it occurs to him that Ren really doesn’t know this. Poe has the uncharitable urge to find whoever neglected to teach him about his biology and punch them in the face — a particularly unwise reflex, he thinks, since half of that responsibility ought to have fallen on General Organa’s shoulders and he couldn’t lay a hand on her if he tried.

“But I feel fine,” Ren says, “I feel better than I have since — since we were attacked.”

“Were you on suppressants?” Poe frowns. It’s common for omegas to take suppressants if they’re unmated, of course. He imagines there are some parts of the galaxy where omegas sweat it out or die in heat, and it’s an unpleasant thought. But they can have unpredictable effects on omegas if taken for too long. It’s the reason omegas are thought to have shorter lifespans than alphas, or even betas. Not everyone is lucky enough to find a mate.

“Of course.”

“Well, better to be safe.” He strides past Ren and picks up his flight suit, folding it deftly. “Do you really want to take the chance? Wouldn’t you rather follow my lead, then take me out at the last possible moment and steal my ship anyway?”

Ren scowls, the expression unflattering on him, and draws himself up. He looks about to say something, but it’s obvious he can’t disagree with either of Poe’s points.

“How much field experience do you have?” Poe asks.

“Plenty,” says Ren defensively, which he takes to mean ‘none at all’.

“Let me rephrase that,” he says. “How often have you been stranded on a planet you know nothing about and been forced to navigate potentially hostile situations without using your lightsaber?”

Ren growls. “Not often. My Master does not send me into hopeless situations expecting me to fail.”

“Right. Well, I’ve been in this situation more often than you’d think, so I suggest you follow my lead if you want to stay alive and out of slavery. Particularly if General Hux is under the impression that you’re still alive.” In fact, Poe thinks, Leia seems especially fond of throwing him ass-first into hopeless situations, so he has plenty of experience — though it definitely isn’t the kind of thing that gets easier with practice. It’s hard to acclimatize oneself to torture and constant threat of death. He still has nightmares about his time on the First Order destroyer.

The recollection is like a douse of cold water. He shakes himself briefly. It’s better to have the reminder that Ren is not his ally or his omega, but an enemy, than to walk willfully into a trap.

He leaves the room and doesn’t look back to see if Ren follows him. The hallways all look vaguely the same, so Poe picks a direction and hopes for the best. A moment later Ren strides up next to him, his robe flaring out behind him. Poe remains silent for a moment, and then he says, “You know that’ll have to go,” gesturing over at Ren.

“What?” Ren looks down at himself.

“The outfit. You’ll need to dress the part if we’re going to be two harmless stranded travellers.”

“But these are my only clothes,” Ren says dumbly, “I —“

“They probably have some extra clothes lying around this place,” Poe interrupts, clapping him on the shoulder. Ren looks befuddled. Poe considers the idea that he’s unaccustomed to working with other people; it would make sense that Lord Snoke keeps his apprentice on a short leash, controls him by isolating him from his allies — like General Hux. He doesn’t know a whole lot about the Force, but he’s seen plenty of slaves in his life. They all have ways to cope. “If they haven’t turned to dust by now, they might even be respectable.”

 

He searches out a new set of clothing for them both while Kylo Ren excuses himself to gather his own supplies. He takes the opportunity to sync the library to the device General Organa gave him. Once he’s back in open space he can send the data her way. The terminals wink and chirp at him in binary as he fiddles with the servers, lonely from so many years of disuse and lousy with gossip. He listens with half an ear to their resentful muttering about Jedi and their abandonment of perfectly usable technology. It cheers him up; machines are the same no matter where you go. Temperamental, stubborn, and highly opinionated about their own value.

The Temple houses a number of laundry chutes in various states of disrepair, one of which yields several serviceable pairs of pants that may actually fit Ren and some outerwear that probably belonged to a Jedi — stained, worn, and generally falling apart. Poe shrugs and bundles it all up.

He finds Ren at the end of the first hallway sorting through the bodies of the stormtroopers, a rather gruesome task. He straightens when Poe approaches, a bag in hand. Poe holds the clothing out to him and he thrusts the bundle into the bag without looking at it. In the same hand he holds his helmet, which he quickly does the same with. Poe wonders what kind of attachment he has to it. It seems to have sentimental value, but maybe it’s only practical for him to dehumanize himself.

“My troops had enough for a trip twice as long as what we will be making,” Ren says, holding up a ration pack. “It will be more difficult to for us to carry the supplies than to find them.”

“It’s no wonder General Hux tried to kill you if this is how you treat your allies.” Poe jerks his chin at the fallen troopers. They’re faceless soldiers, sure. Across the battlefield he has no problem cutting them down. Still, he can’t help feeling this is different.

“You don’t understand. Nobody can know about me.” Ren tightens the straps on the bag and swings it over his shoulder. His tone is matter-of-fact. “Nobody _does_ know. Can you see why?”

Poe nods slowly. He understands that in Ren’s cutthroat world, certain facts are unwelcome. That doesn’t mean he respects it. “It’s a weakness.”

“Yes.” Ren points down the hall. “The rest of the supplies are in the main atrium.”

 

By the time they’re finished each of them has a lightweight tent, water, food, and proper insulation against the cold. They also have the metal bolts and frames that Poe dug out of the blasters and flattened; although a savvy trader might recognize them, even folded into compact squares, they could be useful as currency. Metals are often accepted where credits are not recognized. Still, Poe knows the supplies may not be enough to keep them alive. What he’s seen of Neree hasn’t been very hospitable — First Order included — and even the most experienced person can run into trouble if their equipment fails.

He flies them fifty kliks south and lands the fighter at the crook of low, sloping valley. There are no signs of General Hux’s people; it’s impossible to know how far away they are. Ren sits hunched over in the auxiliary seat, his eyes closed, looking miserable.

“Get changed,” he tells Ren when they land, tossing his bag over. He opens the cockpit so they have standing room and strips quickly, the biting cold making him shiver. The clothes are ill fitting but comfortable and warm. He packs his thermals and leaves everything else in the storage space under the droid cockpit.

Ren moves more slowly, and Poe pointedly doesn’t watch him undress. He swings down from the fighter and moves about, gathering scrub and snow to pile around the fighter to camouflage it. It’s not easy to hide an X-wing, but he can disguise it so a casual fly-over might not show anything obviously unnatural like the big engine vents. The ship’s not doing any better, and he’s worried there’s a leak in the fuel line — even taking into account the drain from the shield generator, she’s losing pressure too fast during acceleration. Fuel is expensive and difficult to carry, and a pretty obvious tell in the market if anyone is looking for them.

Ren sits on a rocky outcropping and watches him work. Out of his robes he looks quite ordinary in a belted tunic and thick hide jacket, his dark hair pulled back into a tail at the nape of his neck. Only the lightsaber tucked into his belt does anything to ruin the image of normalcy. I

“You could help,” Poe suggests, hauling another armful of branches past him.

“I’d rather not,” says Ren. Poe shrugs and gives it up. Better to do it himself than have an unwilling helper do a shoddy job.

It takes him the better part of an hour to be satisfied, and another fifteen minutes to cover his tracks. Ren sits silently, watching. Poe is red-faced and sweating by the time he stops; in contrast, Ren looks pale and wan.

“Time to head out,” he says, swinging his pack over his shoulder and strapping it on. It’s heavier than he’d like, but without the blaster parts they’ll have no means of trade. Hopefully as they head south the terrain will even out. Ren unfolds himself, more ungainly than graceful without his dark robe, and follows him without a word.

 

The weather takes a turn for the worse a few hours past midday. The red sun creeps across the sky through the gathering clouds and the temperature drops steadily. The barometer on his pack indicates that flurries are probable, but not the storm he’s fearing. Still, with the reduced visibility they might have to make camp early rather than risk a fall. The terrain here is none too solid.

When Poe finds himself straining to see in the dim, red light he stops and holds up his hand to Ren, who closes the meters between them. Up close he looks terrible, his mouth drawn tight and his eyes shadowed. “Pass me the rope,” Poe says.

Ren unbuckles his pack and finds the thick polycarbonate rope from Poe’s secondary chute kit. Poe ties one end around his own waist and hands the other end back. There’s about five meters of slack.

“If I fall, cut the rope.” Poe hold out a folding knife in a heavy waterproof sheath. Ren clips it to his belt next to the lightsaber, his gloved hands fumbling with the strap. “If you need to stop, pull on your end.”

“What if I fall?”

“I won’t know in time to do anything,” Poe reasons with a shrug. It’s not the real reason, but he thinks it’s best not to admit that the sometimes self-sacrificing tendencies of an alpha are becoming harder to ignore. Ren doesn’t comment, seeming to accept his reason. He wraps his face again and turns back into the wind.

 

The snow hasn’t yet begun to fall when Poe feels the pull from the other end of the rope. The wind has picked up and his face feels half-frozen; the sky is heavy and dark above them. He turns in time to see Ren stumble and fall.

“Hey, are you okay?” He picks up the slack rope and goes back. Ren struggles to his knees and tries to stand again, but gravity gets the better of him.

“Damn it.” He braces himself on one hand, his jaw clenched. Poe reaches down and helps him to his feet. “I’m fine.”

“We should stop and make camp.” Poe casts a quick eye about at their surroundings. One mountain looks much like another and the tents will anchor anywhere; this is as good a place as any. Ren pulls away.

“I can keep going.”

“That’s a load of crap,” says Poe. “You’re going through a heat. Realistically, you should be someplace safe, warm, and comfortable right now, with an alpha of your choice at your beck and call. Look at you, you can barely stand.” He drops his pack and points out a likely spot. “If you want to help, set up two anchors over there.”

Ren scowls silently but doesn’t offer further protest. He heads in the direction Poe indicated, picking his way slowly over the rocky ground, careful not to stumble again. Poe watches him critically. He wasn’t kidding; if he had known the kind of shape Ren would be in after a day of travel, he’d have elected to stay at the temple and hope for the best — maybe General Hux’s people wouldn’t have found them, or maybe there would be time for Ren to weather his heat and they could defend the temple when the soldiers arrived. But there was no point in turning back now.

They set up the two tents side by side and retire just as the snow starts to fall.

Poe eats a ration pack and drinks some unpleasantly cold water and wonders whether or not he’ll really be able to sleep. He crawls into the sleeping bag regardless, closes his eyes and listens to the wind howl outside. He thinks about the anchor and the rocky slope, whether there are avalanches here. He strains his ears for any signs of Ren moving about, but there are none. He tells himself he’s being ridiculous, worrying about Kylo Ren like some hormone-addled youngling.

 

In the middle of the night he wakes up.

The air is still, the wind gone silent. For a moment he doesn’t know what woke him, and then he hears it: a low, intermittent whine. He sits bolt upright and scrambles out of his sleeping bag. Outside it’s pitch black and he makes his way by feel into Ren’s tent, unzipping the front flap and closing it behind him with impatient hands. His stomach tightens as the noise becomes louder and more insistent. Ren moves restlessly at his feet. He crouches and finds Ren’s shoulders, rolling him over onto his side.

“Hush,” he mumbles, rubbing his thumbs over the dip of Ren’s exposed collarbone. He kicks off his boots and worms his way inside Ren’s sleeping bag, curling around him tightly. Ren pushes at him weakly but his whining subsides and he settles as Poe inches a hand inside his sleeping clothes and strokes his ribs. Arousal rises in him but he ignores it, too physically exhausted. Ren is a solid, warm presence in his arms and the alpha in the back of his head is satisfied.

They sleep like that until morning, when Poe wakes alone. The tent is cold and empty, the sleeping bag wrapped around him. Ren’s pack is still there. Poe sits up and digs through it for breakfast; when he pokes his head outside, still chewing the tough jerky, he sees Ren stepping carefully through the snow in a series of forms he recognizes from staff fighting. His back is to Poe.

Poe laces up his boots and runs a hand over his jaw, wondering if it’s worthwhile to shave. When Ren sees him he turns away abruptly, his face flushing with shame. “Eat something,” Poe says, tossing Ren’s pack out toward him. He ducks into his own tent to find the straight-blade and the little solar-powered container to melt snow.

He shaves with some difficulty, nicking himself a couple times when his hand slips. “Damn,” he hisses, wiping the blood away with his thumb. He should’ve just left it; he likes being clean-shaven, but it’s a silly vanity to have. When he emerges from the tent Ren eyes him, his gaze resting briefly on the cut at the edge of Poe’s jaw.

“We should leave,” Ren says. “The days are short on this planet.”

“How is repression working out for you?” Poe asks, folding his arms.

“Just fine,” Ren tells him shortly. He flips his hood up and turns away to take down his tent.

 

The second night they make camp Ren approaches him before he enters his tent and holds out the rope. He looks determined. “Bind me,” he says, “and stay in your own tent this time.”

Poe lifts both his eyebrows in surprise. “You want me to tie you up… and _not_ take advantage? You sure have a high opinion of my self-control.”

“Please.” Ren snorts. “You could have left me to die. You’ll do what you think is morally commendable.”

“You know, I could help you,” Poe says, taking the rope from him. He lifts his goggles. The snow is falling thickly around them. They haven’t come far, but they’re heading downhill now and he suspects the foothills aren’t far off; from there they only have to cross the tundra. He doesn’t say ‘I want to help you,’ mostly because he thinks it’s self-evident that he wants to fuck Ren.

“Your alpha pheromones are all I need. Don’t do me any favours.” Ren ducks inside his tent, leaving the flap open behind him.

Poe scowls down at the rope in his hands.

When he enters the tent Ren is kneeling with his back to Poe, his arms crossed at the wrists behind him. His head is bowed, baring the nape of his neck. The urge to throw the rope away and dig his teeth into that pale skin is almost overwhelming — he could do it, make Ren submit, make him _want_ it. Poe grits his teeth and crouches down.

He ties the rope firmly around Ren’s slender wrists, then loops it around the tent anchor to keep him in place. He runs a finger along he inside of the binding to check the tension, uses it as an excuse to feel Ren’s pulse racing under his skin. Ren clasps his hands together and breathes deeply.

“Lie down,” Poe says, gently pushing his shoulder and bracing him from underneath. Ren goes willingly. Poe pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than how easy it would be to open up Ren’s shirt and lick his nipples until he was begging to be fucked. “Okay. I’m going to cover you with the sleeping bag. Are you comfortable?”

“Fine,” Ren says, his voice even. “Just go.”

Poe lets out a frustrated noise and does as he says.

This time when he wakes up in the middle of the night he clenches his hands and doesn’t get up. Ren whines for a long time, and then he howls, and Poe stares angrily up at the ceiling of his tent. When the noise fades he thinks maybe he’ll be able to sleep, but Ren isn’t silent; he’s begging, quietly and indistinctly. Poe doesn’t hear it at first, and then he does and his stomach turns over.

The shock quickly turns to arousal. He tries to ignore it but after what feels like an eternity he gives in and shoves the thick ball of his thumb between his teeth, reaches down to flick open the buttons of his fly. A sharp moan escapes him as he palms his cock and wraps his fingers around the base where it’s already fat and ready; he rubs his thumb over the tip and spreads his precome down the shaft, his eyes squeezing shut. He doesn’t have to try very hard to imagine burying himself inside the needy omega tied up so close by.

He bites down on his thumb to keep quiet as he fucks his hand, sloppy and wet. He comes after barely a minute, holding his palm over the sensitive head of his cock so he doesn’t get come everywhere, panting harshly into his hand. His knot throbs as he comes down, although it’s barely formed. Afterward everything smells sharper and his skin feels sensitive and hot. He drops his head back onto the bundle of clothes he’s using as his pillow and groans.

Sometime in the night Ren calms down enough for Poe to get some sleep. He doesn’t think that jerking off two more times to Ren’s helpless noises and imagining fucking his mouth until he’s drooling really counts as ‘morally commendable’, but he supposes it’s better than the alternative, which would be _actually_ making Ren choke on his dick and like it.

In the morning when he unties Ren he won’t even look at Poe. His shoulders are hunched from more than just sore muscles. He packs up silently and Poe lets him, not sure what he would even say. Ren can’t have missed the smell of what he’d been doing. He’s not embarrassed, exactly, but he’s not… certain. It frustrates him. Finding an omega should mean _certainty_ like nothing else.

He’s watching Ren wince as he breaks down his tent, clearly favouring his left shoulder, and with a shake of his head he comes up beside him and takes the pole from him. “I don’t know how you’ll carry that pack,” he says, “I suppose I could —“

“Get away from me,” Ren spits, stiffening.

Poe steps back abruptly.

“Just — ” Ren breaks off, looking down. “Please. Stay away from me.”

“Okay,” Poe says, his heart clenching. He holds up his hands. “I can do that.”

 

The terrain eases out into smoother land after that, the foothills rolling gently under their feet and the skies lifting. The snow is crisp and clean with a brittle, icy crust and they have little hope of masking their trail. Still, Poe has neither seen nor heard any sign of pursuit, so he hopes for the best. Ren carries his weight without complaint and manages to look foreboding in his ancient, un-dyed Jedi clothing. Poe has a moment of sudden realization — he _had_ been a Jedi once, wore clothes very similar to this, and he wonders if that has anything to do with Ren’s mood. He keeps his distance, though, and tries to focus on their passage.

He remains distracted, though, and he blames the fall on that.

They’re making their way downslope and Poe is in the lead, using a tent pole in one hand to check the ground for stability. The snow is sparse now and the scree sometimes gives way underfoot; what seems like a solid foothold will crumble into pebbles without warning. This hill is steep and rocky and gives way to a swiftly flowing creek in a ravine at its base.

All it takes is one misstep and the ground slides out from under him. With a yell Poe throws out his hands as he falls and tries to no avail find something to anchor himself. He jams the pole into the ground to slow his passage but it snaps with a resounding crack. He braces his heels and his palms against the ground in a fruitless attempt to slow his descent. Ren is shouting above him, but he can’t make out the words over the rattle of rocks.

A meter from the edge something yanks him backward. He gasps for breath, held still by the Force-grip around his ribs. A moment later Ren grabs his elbow and hauls him upright. Poe staggers and steadies himself, panting, his knees shaking. Ren looms over him, his grip too tight around Poe’s arm and his jaw clenched.

“I’m okay,” Poe says, taking stock. “Nothing broken. Cutting it a little close there, weren’t you?”

“I panicked,” Ren mutters, releasing him quickly and stepping away.

Poe lets out a breathless chuckle and claps him on the shoulder. “Me, too, babe.”

Ren follows him more closely after that; he doesn’t think he’s imagining it.

They follow the creek until the foothill levels out and the water disappears underground. Here the snow has been packed down by the cycle of warm days and cool nights into dense, icy patches over a solid layer of permafrost. Scrubby swathes of lichen and blue mosses are soft underfoot. They pick their way across the exposed land, making much better time than before. Poe hopes they’ll reach the port within two days. He’s behind schedule on the mission; his backup will be wondering whether to send a rendezvous to check up on him, and he has no way to warn them off.

 

That night he’s ready when they make camp.

“No,” he says as Ren pulls the second tent out of his bag.

Ren straightens and his face twists up into an ugly expression. “I thought we established that I’m not interested in being a pity fuck. I can handle it alone.”

“Yeah, you were handling it so well last night,” Poe snaps, irrationally annoyed. “Look, I’m not interested in… _pity_ - _fucking_ you, but I’m an alpha and I can’t just turn that off. You can tie your damn hands together again so you won’t have to touch me, but you’re staying in my tent so I can get some sleep.”

“Fine,” Ren says, stuffing his tent back into the bag. “But keep your hands to yourself.”

“Sure,” Poe says shortly, “except for the part where I tie you up, right?”

“Exactly,” Ren snarls.

 

This was a bad idea, Poe thinks. Ren’s back is curved as far away from him as he can manage in a tiny tent made for one person (or two people _without_ intimacy issues). The light of Neree’s third moon seeps through the walls and diffuses over the pale slivers of Ren’s skin. His bound hands are clenched before him, obscuring his face. Poe sighs and rolls over. Ren’s heat must be subsiding soon — in time for them to reach the port, he hopes. It’ll be bad enough traveling with an omega who’s off suppressants, who will make his own status clear. Alpha humans are not always well-received in the Outer Rim either.

Ren’s symptoms are subdued with him closer, at least. His whining is almost subvocal and otherwise only the heady scent gives him away. It’s not much better for Poe, who has to stop himself from reaching over to soothe him more than once. Finally, he sits up.

“I’m not going to lie here and listen to you,” he says. Let me do _something_ for you.”

Ren rolls over and looks up at him, such a classically submissive pose that Poe has to bunch his hands into the sleeping bag. His expression is far from submissive, though, his eyebrows set into a scowl. “Has anyone ever told you that overprotective alpha bullshit is not attractive?”

“Plenty of people,” Poe says, and Ren’s mouth flattens into a thin, unhappy line. Poe wants to tell him that it’s not at all what it sounds like, but he’s not going to debase himself just to soothe Ren’s insecurities. “But this ‘alpha bullshit’ is what’s keeping you alive, so maybe you could relax a bit.”

Ren turns his back again and shrugs awkwardly. “Do what you want.”

Poe grabs his shoulder and forcefully flips him onto his back, pressing him into the ground with his weight. Ren’s eyes widen and his hands come up in defence, like he thinks Poe is going to — fuck, what does he think? That Poe will hurt him?

“What I _want_ is for you to quit playing the martyr and pretending you’re not desperate for it.” He pushes Ren’s hands down. “I want you to let me take care of you. It’s not a weakness, it’s who you are.”

Ren opens his mouth, maybe to say something scathing or to deny it, Poe abruptly doesn’t care. He leans down and kisses Ren with bruising force until he subsides and kisses back, his hands coming up to push against Poe’s chest in an unconvincing protest. Poe bites the mark that’s fading on his jaw, slides his hands up Ren’s shirt and grips his ribs so hard it has to hurt as he sucks a new mark into Ren’s collar. Ren pulls him up by his shirt into another kiss, open and wet. He arches up against Poe and moans when Poe firmly slides his thigh up between his legs.

“If I let you fuck me,” he gasps, “will you shut up with that _‘who I am’_ crap?”

Poe can’t help huffing a laugh into his shoulder. “Sure. I’ll shut up about everything except how tight your ass is for me, sweetheart.”

He pulls down Ren’s pants with one hand and rolls him over, coaxing him up onto his knees and elbows. Ren drops his head and spreads his legs instinctively.

“Fuck,” Poe swears. He runs his thumbs down the arch of Ren’s back and opens up his ass with both hands. “Look at you.” He gives his cock a few perfunctory strokes and presses up against Ren’s hole.

“Ahh!” Ren rolls his head back as Poe fucks into him with short, careful thrusts. Even without prep he’s open and easy, his ass clenching with every downward stroke. Poe doesn’t stop when he bottoms out, keeps fucking him evenly, the slick, clinging heat driving him out of his mind. Ren tucks his face into the crook of his elbow and rolls his hips up to meet him, his rhythm erratic and his breath short.

This time Poe doesn’t hold back; he bites down hard on the back of Ren’s neck when he comes, hips stuttering. He pulls out slowly and runs his fingers through the come that drips out of Ren’s ass, and Ren whimpers and pushes back toward him. “You want more?” Poe says, slipping two fingers inside him. Ren takes them easily. With his eyes fixed on the taut line of Ren’s back he fucks the head of his still hard cock back into Ren’s sloppy hole alongside his fingers, opening him up.

“I can take more,” Ren grits out.

“I bet you can,” says Poe. He slides a tight fist up the shaft of Ren’s neglected cock and lets him ride the dual sensation until he comes with a sharp cry.

He flops down on his back as Ren collapses face first on the sleeping bag.

“I can untie your wrists,” he says.

“Yeah,” Ren mumbles, rolling over and holding out his hands. Poe pulls the knots loose and he rubs the knobs of his wrist bones, his eyes lowered. “You fucking claimed me,” he says, but there’s not a lot of heat in it.

“It’s not a permanent mark.” Poe looks over at him, hating that he feels uncertain about Ren’s reaction. He’s not used to being hesitant about taking what he wants. He reaches over and brushes the hair off Ren’s damp brow. “You feel better?”

“I feel —“ Ren snorts. “Fucked. I guess that’s _better_ for someone like me.”

He falls asleep with his back to Poe, curled in the curve of his body.

 


	5. obligatory port city

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> plot!

It takes them three more days to reach the port town of Yasvadi. Ren’s heat is has waned and he’s more irritable and tense than ever, but when the sun sets he still submits to Poe with hardly a complaint. Poe can feel his claim on the omega growing stronger every time they fuck, and he knows what it means: they’re compatible, probably too much so. By the time they leave this damned planet they’ll both have to endure the singularly unpleasant pheromone withdrawal of a half-formed bond being broken. Still, he’s not given to regretting or second guessing his own decisions. He wouldn’t have chosen a different path, if it came down to it.

“You could stay in Yasvadi,” he suggests as they set up camp on the final night before their descent into town. “Find someone to take you into open space.”

The town lies in the curve of a gently sloped basin carved out by one of the great migrating glaciers, making it easy to spot incoming ships from the lip of the basin. Poe sits on a rugged rock formation with a pair of binoculars and peers out over the town in the dying light. If any of General Hux’s people lie in wait for them it’s unlikely they’ll have parked their ships in the common yard, but it’s worth a look.

The smooth domed heads of the Nereenan merchant’s alley and communal hives are interrupted by homes and businesses of foreign build, and on the outer rim of the town they peter out altogether to be replaced by more ramshackle structures, meat farms and betting houses sitting shoulder to shoulder. The ship yard itself stretches out of the mouth of the basin, opposite from their camp, toward the sea.

Ren perches next to him, his legs drawn up and his elbows resting on his knees. He looks gangly and young with his wind-stung cheeks and his eyes bright from the cold. “And wait for Hux’s people to slit my throat while I’m sleeping?”

Poe shrugs. “I figured you had ways to circumvent that sort of thing, or else he’d have knocked you out of the running a long time ago.”

“General Hux isn’t foolish enough to kill me under Lord Snoke’s nose,” says Ren. “But I don’t doubt he’ll have sent some of his best soldiers after me.”

“You think you’ll be vulnerable on your own.” He scans the sky, but there are only a couple of satellites and a speckling of stars winking above the vermillion sunset. All three of Neree’s moons are in the sky tonight, two thin crescents and a half moon chasing them. He looks over at Ren, who’s frowning. Ren doesn’t answer him. He lets out an irritated grunt. “I get it, you’re a commander in Snoke’s army and you must show no weakness, etcetera. Well, as long as you haul your fair share of spare parts.”

“I’ve always wanted to be a pack-beast for a cocky fighter pilot with an overblown sense of self-importance,” Ren gripes, but Poe only smirks.

“Who’s carrying all the blaster parts we’re going to trade for a ride off this hunk of rock?”

Ren stands up. “Shut up and get in the tent.”

“You’re giving orders now, huh?” Poe says, his stomach tightening with eagerness. “Count me in, then.”

 

Their cover story is straightforward — their ship and crew ran into trouble a couple jumps out of the system and their escape pod was damaged in the fallout. Poe figures they’ll never pass as locals on a planet this small.

Yasvadi itself is confined mostly to the indoors. The markets under the big domes are crowded even in the morning. Conflicting smells rise from the big roasting pits, reminding Poe of how long it’s been since he ate real food instead of something that came quick-dried from a tin. He elbows his way through the crush of people, eyes open for a likely stand. They’ve passed several so far with parts he could use but he doesn’t like the look of the proprietors. Plenty of folks in free-for-all markets like this one are just looking to swindle people out of their goods, particularly where credits and other standardized currencies hold little to no value.

Ren looms behind him like a surly, skinny bodyguard, his scar lending him a menacing air. In spite of his height neither of them stands out from the crowd, for which Poe is thankful, although their packs mark them as travellers and thus easy prey for hawkers. More than once he has to fend off an over-eager vendor pushing bootlegged goods, and Ren fares no better in spite of his foreboding glare.

“You need to lighten up or people are going to start taking notice,” says Poe over the hubbub as Ren comes up beside him. “Or taking offence. We really can’t afford either.”

“I’ve seen three stalls carrying parts you could sub into the shield generator with hardly any trouble.” Ren ignores his comment, folding his arms. “Why haven’t you stopped?”

“Colour me surprised, you know a thing or two about ship repairs.” Poe lifts his eyebrows. “Obviously not so much about negotiating prices. Troopers do all your buying for you?”

“Most traders are happy to give their services to the First Order. I find the lightsaber does the trick,” Ren snaps.

“Of course you do.” Poe scans the busy hallway. They’ve stopped against a divider, scrap metal shop on one side and artisanal leather accessories on the other. The latter sits empty of customers and the Nereenan staffing it shoots them suspicious looks as they stand there. He points across the way. “See the reels of tubing over there? I’m going to need about half a standard meter of the vinyl stuff and two meters of the corrugated, double-walled fuel line. But that fellow won’t sell it to me for a couple of First Order blaster endoskeletons — see the sign? ‘No Imperial Credits’. Out here that means nothing stamped with any marks of affiliation, so that puts me out a couple of lengths of tube. Plus, if I make a fuss about it he’s likely to remember me when troopers come around asking.” He shrugs. “Just be patient. I know what I’m looking for.”

“We don’t have time for this. I’ve already spotted three potential First Order spies,” Ren says stiffly. His hand lingers near his hip where the lightsaber is hidden by his coat. “Lord Snoke knows I am here; Hux will soon know it, too.”

Poe straightens, unconsciously moving to place himself between Ren and any potential danger. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Spies are harmless. When I see soldiers I will tell you.”

He keeps a sharper eye on the crowd after that but he doesn’t see whatever Ren sees. Ren remains close behind him and says very little. Poe has his own blaster and a boot-knife strapped to his calf and he doesn’t doubt that Ren would be a formidable ally in a shootout, but he worries that if it comes down to it they won’t be fighting on the same side. Why should they, after all? Ren’s heat has passed; though he still smells like omega and he might have personal concerns about his own vulnerability it’s clear to Poe that he’s capable of holding his own now. Especially when the enemy doesn’t have the advantage of surprise. Quite frankly Poe is waiting for Ren to turn on him, and he doesn’t know what in the hell he’s going to do when that time comes.

 

Nearing the latter part of the day Poe picks out a few likely stalls as they move from dome to dome and his pack lightens. He’s managed to trade in the scrap metal for some fairly well-reputed local currency. It makes trading easier. The only problem is that Ren hovers behind him and makes the merchants nervous, and he refuses to wait out of sight. This all comes to a head when Poe finally spots a forcefield generator in the back of what’s essentially a junkyard and goes round the front to buy it from the proprietor, who, Poe discovers without meaning to, runs the local equivalent of pit fighting behind her legitimate mechanic shop.

He’s getting frustrated by the woman’s unwillingness to admit to even having the generator when Ren, probably picking up on his feelings, pushes past her to the back door. He opens it onto the frozen yard and the assorted bettors clumped around a dug-out ring turn to stare at them. After a moment there’s an awful squawk from the ring and the bloody spectacle draws their attention once more.

The woman pulls out a blaster from under the counter and levels it at them. “You call the sheriff, I blast you into tiny pieces.”

“Whoa,” Poe says, holding his hands up. “We’re not friends of the law enforcement. We don’t want anything to do with your very _respectable_ establishment.”

“Oh yeah? ‘Cause your pal looks like he’s getting friendly with the inside of his coat, you know what I mean? Hands up, buddy!” She swings her blaster around at Ren, who slowly raises his hands in defeat. “I think I should just blow you to smithereens anyway, huh? Bad for business, looking like I let any old piece of space trash into my yard.”

Ren moves faster than Poe can follow. In an instant the lightsaber springs to life in his hand and he leaps forward. The woman yells and shoots at him and he ducks the blast with ease; he deflects the next one and brings the lightsaber down against her throat, fisting one hand in her collar. His face is drawn up into a snarl. “Space trash?”

“Ren!” Poe grabs his shoulder, but it’s too late. Security droids roll out of the corners and spring to their feet, surrounding them. “Damn it. Just let her go!”

“I’m gonna kill ya!” She shrieks, yanking out of Ren’s grip. Ren looks around wildly, his lightsaber still at the ready.

“Wait!” Poe pulls him back. “He’s an omega — don’t shoot!”

The woman barks something in Nereenan to the droids and the ominous whine of their blasters powering up quiets to a hum. “The fuck he is,” she says. “He yours? You too much of a beta to keep a leash on him?”

“We’re — newly bonded,” Poe says through gritted teeth. He can _feel_ Ren bristling beside him. “He doesn’t react well to threats.”

“Like hell we’re —“ Ren begins, and Poe turns to him and grabs the lightsaber hilt above Ren’s grip. The shock that emanates from him is almost enough to make Poe let go, but he’s damned if he’s going to get killed by a bunch of security droids and buried in some junker’s frozen backyard just because Ren is too proud to do what every omega since the dawn of time has done.

“Kneel,” he says.

“I can’t —“

The look on his face makes Poe’s chest tighten; that bewilderment, the battle between the need to submit and the inability to trust — he wants to take Ren by the jaw and make him _see_ that he deserves this, deserves an alpha who will make him do this. He lays his hand in the crook of Ren’s neck, where he’s vulnerable and open.

“Kneel.”

Ren slowly sinks to his knees, his lightsaber going dark.

“Good boy.” Poe sinks his fingers into Ren’s lush dark hair. The muscles in Ren's shoulders tighten and then ease almost comically fast as Poe strokes him. “See? Just a misunderstanding.”

The woman scowls, but waves her hand at the droids. They slink off to the shadows, although this time Poe can see them if he glances at them from just the right angle. They’re well-hidden, probably with cheap camouflage add-ons, a standard precaution for folks in this sort of business. One of them remains behind and she gives it a command. It trundles off into the back. “You gonna pay extra for the trouble,” she says.

“Of course.” Poe tightens his hand in Ren’s hair, a gentle reprimand. She’s going to gouge him for all he’s got after this mess. Ren lets out a sub-vocal whine and Poe looks down at him. His hands clench and release in the stiff fabric of his pants. He doesn’t look up, but Poe can see the muscles are tight in his jaw and his eyes are dark. Even outside of his heat he’s so easy for Poe’s touch. _Oh yeah_ , Poe thinks. _We’re in trouble_.

He spends about twice what the generator is worth. She’s a good business-person; she could have refused to trade with them out of spite, but the scales had tipped in her favour — if he had been a newly bonded alpha he wouldn’t have negotiated hard at all after his omega caused a scene like that. She doesn’t mention the lightsaber, and Poe wonders if she knew what it was and wasn’t saying. He doesn’t pay much attention to her after that; he’s too distracted by the omega kneeling at his feet. An itch builds under his skin. As soon as he’s paid and the security droids roll up to escort them out, Poe pulls Ren up by the elbow and steers him out the door.

Out in the cold Ren seems to sober somewhat, but the heat in the pit of Poe’s stomach doesn’t subside at all. They’re barely away from the shop when he yanks Ren into an alleyway and slams him up against the wall.

He kisses Ren without preamble, cradles his face with both hands and slides his fingers up through Ren’s hair. Ren moans into his mouth and grabs at him eagerly. He presses them together hip to hip and chest to chest, soaking in Ren’s warmth even through their bulky clothing.

“Gonna fuck you,” he groans, pushing a hand under Ren’s thermal top to run his palm over his chest. “Get you so wet you beg for my knot.”

“You’re all talk,” Ren gasps. Poe twists his nipple and he yelps.

“Did you want it?” Poe pants in his ear. “When you were on your knees. Did you think about kneeling every day? Getting my dick whenever you need it? When _I_ decide you need it? I’d take care of you so well, babe.”

Ren rolls his head back and pushes his hips into Poe’s in a desperate attempt to find some friction. “Yeah, okay, yeah I did. Think about it all the fucking _time_.”

His voice is rough and wrecked. Poe cups the back of his neck and presses his forehead to Ren’s collarbone.

After a moment he pulls away. “What’re you — ?” Ren reaches for him, but he grabs his wrists.

“There’s a hotel back there.” He flashes his currency chip. “Still got some _yadi_ left on here.”

“Seriously? You’re going to fuck me in a _hotel_?”

“It’s got running water, which is more than I can say for the tent,” Poe says, grinning. “Don’t you want to take a shower that doesn’t come out of a bag? Just for one night. Then we’ll head back.”

 

Later, naked and damp and warm, Poe tumbles them onto the tiny bed and blocks in Ren’s body with his own. He wraps himself around Ren tightly, one hand flattened wide against his back, the other buried in his hair. Ren opens up for him like Poe belongs inside him. He wraps his legs around Poe’s back and grips the bar at the head of the bed so he can grind down on Poe’s cock. His moaning builds frantically as they fuck. Poe pulls away to sit on his haunches and fold Ren’s hips up so he can fuck him deeper, and Ren’s gaze becomes fixed on the gap between them where he can see Poe driving into him.

“Yeah,” he pants, “Give me your knot —“

Poe groans and comes inside him, pushing his knot up into Ren’s ass with short, hard thrusts. Ren takes his cock in both hands and milks himself with breathless noises until he squeezes and shudders around Poe and his head falls back against the pillow, come spurting up between his fingers.

Afterward Poe tucks himself close around Ren, disregarding the mess between them. There’s a warmth growing in him that’s distressingly easy to succumb to, an urge to enfold all of Ren’s limbs within his own and keep him tied, full and satisfied. Underneath him Ren squirms and sighs and halfheartedly pushes back onto his knot, like he’s thinking about going again.

 

“Wake up,” Ren hisses, crouched over him. Poe jerks upright and narrowly avoids knocking their heads together.

“What the hell?”

“Shh!” Ren smacks a hand over his mouth. Poe darts a glance across the room. It’s night, but a light still shines outside the door. Footsteps and the distant, familiar crackle of a stormtrooper’s voice filter sound down the corridor. Poe scrambles up and yanks on his pants, fumbling with the buttons, his heart pounding. Ren rolls off the other side of the bed and does the same, although with more grace.

“Out the back.” Poe stuffs their travel equipment and clothes back into their packs as the voices near; it becomes clear that one of them is the hotel’s proprietor arguing with the troopers. “He better damn well stall them. I paid him a mint.”

Outside there’s a yell and a scuffle and one of the troopers growls something unintelligible. The proprietor becomes abruptly silent. “You couldn’t’ve waited until we had the damned room number,” someone says. Poe winces.

“Through the vents,” he amends.

Ren grabs his pack and wedges his lightsaber into his belt. “Maybe you should’ve paid him in protective services.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Poe deflects, though guiltily he thinks it sounds like the poor guy took the butt-end of a blaster to the head, or worse.

The vent is wedged shut with years of grime and dust and it takes Poe more than a little elbow grease just to crack it open; by the time he’s pried it loose from its frame the troopers have knocked down half the doors in the hall from the sound of it. There’s muffled muttering, and then the strip of light under the door darkens with booted feet.

“Get up there.” Poe lifts his blaster to his shoulder. He gets down from the chair he’s been standing on and kneels behind the bed, aiming at the door. “Now!” he says when Ren hesitates. “I’m right behind you.”

“Alright.” Ren nods shortly. There’s a clatter behind Poe as he tosses the packs up into the vent, and then he’s gone.

Poe waits. The stormtroopers slam something into the door and it trembles.

Doors that slide open do not lend themselves to being pushed inward — the basic principle is all wrong. But stormtroopers are nothing if not dedicated, and in short order they’ve cracked it open. Soon there’s an opening large enough for them to enter one at a time. The first trooper sticks the nose of his blaster in and does a quick sweep; Poe ducks out of sight.

“Clear,” the trooper says. “Next one.”

Poe brings up the blaster and fires.

He gets two good shots in, neither of them lethal, before they realize what’s happening and start shooting back. One trooper ducks into the room and Poe tucks and rolls away from the bed and comes up in front of him, bludgeoning him with the blaster before he can react. It’s inelegant but effective and the soldier goes down like a bag of stones. But before he can get back to the cover of the bed a searing pain shoots through his right shoulder and he falters and almost fumbles the blaster. Gritting his teeth, he crouches and steadies his shoulder with his left hand as he aims. If this is it, he thinks, at least dying in a shoot-out is a pretty good way to go.

Then he hears the familiar crackle of Ren’s lightsaber and an unwarranted surge of relief rushes through him. The troopers have forced the door open entirely now and fan out into the room, five of them in total. Ren’s saber is a blur; he’s something else to watch. He takes them out with ease, one after the other, like they’re not even moving. Afterward he rounds on Poe, and Poe finds that he can’t quite get to his feet. Maybe he’ll just sit for a minute, he thinks. The blast really took the wind out of him.

“You’re hurt.” Ren stands over him, the red glow giving him a diabolical gleam in his dark eyes.

“Just a scratch,” Poe manages, pushing himself upright in spite of the pain. He feels a little lightheaded from the shock. “I’ll be fine.”

“We should leave quickly. There will be more.” Ren steadies him as he lists to one side.

“Thought I could slow them down,” Poe says, gritting his teeth. He’s not going to bleed out from a blaster shot, but they can go straight through flesh from close range — he doesn’t want to look, fears it’ll be worse than he thinks.

Ren grabs his hand and pulls it away from the wound. He hisses at the sight. “Can you get up into the ventilation shaft?”

“If I have to.”

Being the taller of the two of them by almost a full head, Ren boosts him up after he climbs onto the chair. Still, the strain on his damaged muscle almost makes him pass out and he lies panting in the narrow space while Ren swings himself up with little effort. It’s almost wide enough for them to cram in side by side. Ren rolls him over onto his back and pulls his eyelids up to check his pupils.

“Take your pulse,” he says. He puts the back of his hand to Poe’s temple to feel the temperature of his skin. Poe presses two fingers to his pulse and tries to count. He keeps losing track, closing his eyes and drifting.

“There’s a medi-bag in my pack,” he says, trying to focus, “should be a burn kit inside. Can you — ?”

Ren yanks open the pack from the bottom end and opens the bag. “Which one?”

“The blue one,” he gasps. He’s been hit by a blaster before, but a pilot’s injuries are usually concussive — fractures, broken bones, or internal rearrangements from being tossed about. Ultimately they have the potential to be more dangerous than a blaster shot, but nothing is quite as painful as a couple thousand fried nerve endings. “Crack the compress and use the wrap to keep it in place. It’ll keep the burn from spreading.”

“Here.” Ren hands him a shot of pain meds. His face is pale, his hair in disarray from where he’s run his fingers through it. “Take this first.”

The snap of the compress echoes down the shaft and Poe winces. He slides his hand under the waistband of his pants and jams the shot into the bulk of his thigh, barely registering the pinch of the needle. Ren pushes him onto his back as soon as he’s done it and begins cutting away a chunk of Poe’s shirt. He presses the compress firmly against the wound and wraps it with unsteady hands. Poe grunts as the cold touches his skin and the initial pain becomes dizzying. But the meds work quickly, and his breath evens out again as Ren ties off the ends. Ren settles Poe’s jacket carefully over his shoulder, his jaw tight.

The adrenaline and the pain medication crash into Poe abruptly and concurrently, sending his brain spiralling out of shock and into the cacophony of several immediate concerns facing them. He sits up quickly as Ren ties up his pack. “We have to go,” he says. “It won’t take the rest of them long to figure out what happened. There’s a couple of speeders round back — we’ll take one of them and head for the mountains.”

“I’ll take the rear,” Ren says.

Poe wraps the straps of his pack around his good arm so that he can drag it beside himself as they crawl. The vents lead them to the joint boiler-room-and-kitchen, at the back of which there’s a door into the alley. Ren inches past Poe and drops soundlessly down into the room first. Poe tosses him the packs and clambers awkwardly out himself. The kitchen is dark and unoccupied, a cluttered mess of pans and single-use vacuum packs and imported rations. A chunk of whale meat longer than Poe is tall hangs from a hook the thickness of his wrist next to the radiant heater, dripping bluish juices onto the mat below it as it cures. The salty-rotten smell is overwhelming.

Poe cracks open the door and Ren flattens himself against the wall and keeps an eye on the room behind them, inactive lightsaber in one hand. “Troopers,” Poe says. “Three on the catwalk and two keeping watch at ten o’clock. There are emergency lights in the yard; they’ll have a clear shot at us.”

“I don’t see a switch around here,” says Ren. “Must be in the front.”

“Great. We’ll have to either hope they’re not watching or take them all out.” The blaster is in his pack, but he can’t wield it with his left hand. He’ll have to rely on Ren. “Can you provide cover if we make a run for it?”

“Of course I can.” Ren fires up the lightsaber and it crackles angrily. “Let me go first and I’ll show them what they’re up against.”

“I think they know already,” Poe mutters, but he stands back from the door to let Ren rain hell down on the unsuspecting troopers.

 

The speeders are outdated and barely maintained but luckily the basic functions of an engine are universal. It takes him barely two minutes to get one of them up and running. Still, it’s long enough that he can feel the pain meds starting to wear off. The meds must have been old — he hasn’t cracked open the medi-bag since his first Resistance mission — but he’d been hoping for a little more of a cushion.

A sharp pain shoots through his shoulder as he tries to swing open the top, and he groans and doubles over, gritting his teeth.

Ren comes around to the pilot’s side and throws their packs into the back. He swings himself into the pilot’s seat while Poe gapes at him.

“I can pilot, you know,” Ren snaps, flushing. “It’s in my blood.”

“Well, good,” Poe says, taken aback. He climbs into the passengerwith some difficulty. He doesn’t like it, sure, but they don’t have time to argue about it. He always feels wrong not being in the pilot’s seat; it’s a private concession to his nature, the need to be in charge all the time. He’s in charge when he’s flying, and that’s good enough that the alpha in him will roll over for a beta like General Organa without a protest. He’s lucky — some alphas he’s heard of tear themselves up trying to live a normal life among betas. He’s got his suspicions that Lord Vader was one of those, back in the day. “Head twenty degrees northwest. We’ll try to get to the mountains before dawn.”

Ren sets the compass and aims the nose of the speeder up toward the open sky as he revs the ancient, spluttering engine. They explode out of the little garage and into the night in a cloud of exhaust.

Once in the air the speeder shrieks unhappily, but Ren pushes it steadily higher until they’re level with the low, rounded roofs, at an advantage over any enemies on foot. They zip through Yasvadi and out over the empty racetracks near the edge of town. Poe can almost believe they’re going to make it when he hears the screech of a TIE-fighter through the cockpit cover.

Ren flicks on the radar. “Coming up at eight o’clock.”

“This old thing can go faster.” Poe yanks up the middle seat partition and fumbles with the wires inside. “Hux must’ve brought in reinforcements. Okay, hit the throttle when I say so.”

The speeder probably hasn’t been given a full once-over since before the Empire fell. The insides are clogged with grease and sticky antifreeze. Poe’s stiff fingers can hardly move inside the compartment. “Any time now,” Ren yells, veering abruptly to the right as the TIE-fighter narrows in on them.

He pulls his boot knife out and cuts the wires without much finesse, then jams their bare ends together in a shower of sparks. “Now!”

The little speeder leaps forward with an unholy screech just as the fighter fires on them. Ren weaves them through the plasma bolts with preternatural grace and it’s all Poe can do to hang on.

“You weren’t kidding about being able to fly!” He whoops as another bolt comes whizzing past them, missing the left stabilizer by a bare handspan. Ren looks over at him, grinning fiercely. His heart is pounding with that particular combination of adrenaline and the joy of seeing someone else fly so well. There’s something hot and bright welling up in the pit of his stomach, a feeling that he recognizes as _‘I would fuck you right through the pilot’s seat’_ and something ultimately far more dangerous, something he’s never felt before: a sense of utter completion. He grips the passenger’s handle and looks away from Ren quickly.

Ren might have the Force-sense to dodge enemy fire, but in the end even a modified speeder is no match for a TIE-fighter. Their position is cemented when two of the disguised X-wings that Poe had encountered previously come roaring out of nowhere to bracket them from behind while the tie-fighter barrel-rolls in a tricky maneuver and blocks them off in the front.

“Aim for the gap!” Poe wrenches his pack open and pulls out the blaster. He pops the cockpit cover on the speeder and the speed of their passage wrenches it off with a deafening crack, sending it flying back over the tundra. Poe lifts the blaster to his uninjured shoulder, clenching his jaw as the blaster wound throbs in protest. Ren points their nose into the gap between the TIE and the T-50 and squeezes the throttle.

“We’re not going to make it,” Ren shouts over the roar of the engines.

“The hell we’re not.” Poe knows where to aim on a starfighter to cripple her; he sends two blasts right into the front exhaust as Ren takes them through the narrowing gap and the T-50 falters, smoke billowing out of her in a cloud. She falls back and they shoot off past the two remaining fighters. He gives a victory yell as the two ships fumble to follow their smaller, more maneuverable craft.

All of a sudden the speeder rocks forward, jolting them both out of positions. The dashboard shrieks a warning and Ren curses, slamming levers like his life depends on it. “We’ve been hit. It’s the magnetic engine.”

“Just cut it off and use the front engine!” Poe leans over him to interfere, but Ren pushes his hands away forcefully.

“There is no front engine. This thing was built before front engines were a gleam in an engineer’s eye!” He pulls the emergency booster, but the engine only coughs and rattles. The X-wing has come around and looms up on them as the little speeder gives one final shake and dies, sending them rattling and spinning across the icy ground.

Poe grabs onto the passenger’s handle and grits his teeth as the sky and the mountains flash across his vision one after the other and the speeder careens over the tundra. As it comes to a stop Ren grabs his arm and hauls him out and away from the wreckage.

Poe gasps for breath, dizzy, and shuts his eyes. He hears the rhythmic march of stormtrooper boots.

“Hux,” Ren hisses, dropping him.

 


	6. capture

When Poe comes to he’s on the bridge of a much larger ship that he doesn’t recognize, but which bears the standard marks of a First Order destroyer: a sleek, well-funded design, state-of-the-art tech, and an abundance of stormtroopers. When they see that he’s awake they drop his feet and he stands unsteadily, his arms bound behind his back. Ren is on his right. He doesn’t look at Poe. His gaze is trained on the figure at the control panel, who straightens and turns, presses an imaginary stray hair back into place. General Hux himself, with a positively gleeful look in his eye.

“Supreme Leader Snoke will not be happy with your waste of resources,” Ren says, lacing his fingers behind his back. He stands free of restraint, but Poe can see at least five stormtroopers with their weapons trained on him. “All this firepower to kill his apprentice when his back was turned, and in the end you couldn’t even manage it. Pathetic.”

“As a matter of fact,” Hux says, striding forward, “Lord Snoke was most interested when I brought it to his attention that you appeared to have allied yourself with this piece of… space flotsam. What was it that they called him again?”

He leans in and grabs Poe’s chin, looking him over with a sharp eye. He’s sure he makes a sorry sight: stained and torn clothes, a bruise blooming on his cheek from the crash, and his spectacular blaster burn. “Ah, yes, _the_ _best pilot in the Resistance_. He was so intrigued by this information that he ordered me to bring you _both_ to him myself. I can’t imagine what he has dreamed up for your new friend.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Ren says, his expression becoming flat and cold.

“It seems he’s concerned about your state of mind. If I were him I’d keep a tighter leash on my pet omega,” Hux sneers.

A low growl tears itself from Poe’s throat. Bitter, utterly unwarranted jealousy bubbles up on the back of his tongue. The two troopers holding him back tighten their grip and he realizes he’s straining toward Hux, his lips pulled back from his teeth in an animalistic snarl. Ren stiffens.

“He would strike you down in an instant for daring to say so.” Ren trembles with barely contained anger.

“Or perhaps he would take my counsel into consideration, since you can’t deny your betrayal,” says Hux, arching his fine golden eyebrows. “Any one of these scent-blind fools could tell you’ve mated with this pilot like an uncontrolled animal. Perhaps you need a stricter hand to keep you in line.”

The revelation strikes Poe suddenly: Hux is a gamma. Able to scent like an alpha or an omega, but unwelcome in the dynamic. They are vanishingly rare, a freak genetic happenstance. He wonders if Snoke keeps General Hux around to monitor Ren — to ensure he’s keeping his sexuality under wraps. He wonders if Ren knows.

Ren narrows his eyes. “He means nothing to me.”

“Nothing?” Hux says. “Then tell me, would you trade your freedom for the object of the pilot’s mission?”

Ren holds his hand out and in it he holds the little hexagonal disc which contains the entirety of the Nereenan Jedi Temple’s library. Poe’s stomach drops. The disc should be in the fingerprint-locked compartment in the underside of his boot, where he stored it a week ago.

Ren hands the device over to Hux without an ounce of hesitation. “Call off your men.”

Hux waves his hand and the troopers stand down. He turns back to the console, a clear dismissal. “You’re free to go.”

“Look sharp,” says the trooper at Poe’s left shoulder, yanking him forward. The dizzying stink of betrayal follows him as they frog-march him off the bridge

 

The brig isn’t terrible, all things considered, Poe thinks as he stares at the ceiling. He’s had worse accommodations. It’s practically hospitable — a bench for sleeping, presumably; a waste pot; sterile white walls; food rations. He’s been in it for what he reckons to be two standard days now and he certainly won’t die of starvation, although he’s bored out of his skull. He’s even had one visit to the med-bay, which he figures is only so that he doesn’t die of infection before Lord Snoke can torture him properly. His wound isn’t inflamed, but neither is it comfortable. The pain is almost constant.

He’s almost thankful for it, though. Distracted by his wound he barely notices the stretch of the half-formed bond, the unpleasant wrench in the pit of his stomach that he knows will only grow worse.

Some time into his third sleep cycle Poe is woken by something he can’t pinpoint and he rolls over on the narrow bench just as the door slides soundlessly open. Ren strides in without a word, dressed once again in his robes and his helmet. The door seals behind him. He begins to pace as Poe sits up and stares at him.

Poe runs a hand through his hair, half-convinced he’s hallucinating.

“What are you doing here?” he finally asks when it becomes clear Ren isn’t going to explain himself.

“Hux will regret this,” Ren says, ignoring him. His tone is venomous even through the helmet’s voice modulator. He paces the length of Poe’s tiny cell. “He has decided I’m of more use to him alive and shamed for my failures than dead. But he underestimates me.”

Poe sags back against the wall that borders his cot. He’s in no mood to coddle Ren. “You’d do the same if it were him, I don’t doubt. You should be happy you’re not dead.”

“I would rather he have killed me than left me like _this_ ,” Ren snarls, turning on him. “Susceptible to his whim. Stymied by this useless half-bond.”

Poe huffs out a bitter laugh, ignoring the twist in his gut. _Useless_. “The two of you deserve each other.”

“Tell me you don’t regret every alpha instinct that led you here,” Ren demands.

“I am who I am because I like myself, believe it or not.” Poe spreads his hands. “Not _everyone_ is a two-faced, double-crossing, power hungry —“

“Enough!” Ren snaps.

Poe lets his hands fall and sighs. “Why did you come here?”

Ren’s booted feet smack sharply against the floor as he turns again to walk restlessly from one side of the cell to the other. “I tried to stay away,” he says. “But the bond — I couldn’t — “

He breaks off.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Poe growls, sitting upright.

“Do you think I want to be here?” His robe swirls out around him dramatically. The bitterness in his voice mirrors the acrid taste in the back of Poe’s mouth. “If I could ignore it, I would.”

“You haven’t got the decency to stay the fuck away, after what you did? You were planning to betray me the whole damned time.”

“You knew we weren’t allies,” Ren points out.

“I knew it as an abstract concept: oh yeah, the guy who’s my enemy will probably stab me in the back the second we hit open space!” Poe scrubs his face with a hand. Of course he knew it. They’re from opposite sides of the battlefield, in a starkly obvious way. On the other hand it was hard to convince himself when Ren had been such a receptive omega — when Poe had waited literally his entire life for this connection.

Ren lifts his helmet to reveal a scowl. “You knew who I was going into this, and now I can’t help that I need it —“

Poe is up in an instant, boxing him in against the wall, anger surging through him. He grabs Ren’s throat just under his jaw and his eyes widen with surprise. Ren flattens himself against the wall instinctively in the face of Poe’s bared teeth. “You can’t help it? Yeah, I think we’ve established that. You can’t help the way you beg for it. Can’t help whining and squirming till you get it. Then when it suits you, you can deny you had any part of it, right? It’s just hormones, after all.”

He squeezes just a little tighter and Ren grabs his wrist with both hands, his lips parting as he struggles to breathe. But he knows Ren could easily push him away, fight back — and he’s too angry to care if he’s hurting Ren. “Don’t worry,” he says darkly, leaning in. Ren’s heat is long over but he still smells so right, so thick and heavy it goes right to Poe’s hind-brain. “I’ll make it easy for you to pretend you didn’t want it.”

He shifts so that they’re flush together, pinning Ren against the wall, and shoves his hand down the back of Ren’s pants without any finesse. He rubs a finger against Ren’s entrance, already wet with slick, and Ren sucks in a breath. “You’re so fucking needy,” he snarls into Ren’s neck. “You’ll take anything I give you, won’t you?”

He doesn’t wait for Ren to answer. He crooks his finger so the tip slips inside easily and pulls it up, stretching Ren open. Ren parts his lips, his eyes gone dark. His cock swells and throbs and he yanks at his belt, unsubtly pushing Ren down. Ren drops to his knees without a complaint, swaying forward to nose at the crook of Poe’s groin. His long eyelashes flutter shut as Poe grips his hair and guides him to suck his cock.

If Poe wasn’t turned on before he sure as fuck is now, with Ren kneeling before him, his dark robes spread out on the floor, lips stretched around his cock. The slippery heat of his mouth has Poe clenching his fist in his hair when Ren tries to go too fast, eager and sloppy. He runs his thumb over the corner of Ren’s mouth and underneath his cock where his bottom lip swells over the shaft, wiping it through the spit and precome that wets his mouth. He pulls that fat, soft lip down almost gently and thrusts in toward the back of his mouth, and Ren jerks back, panting. One hand works its way into his pants.

“Don’t touch yourself,” Poe says fiercely, and he whimpers and pulls his hand out. Poe wraps a hand around where his knot is fattening and feeds Ren his cock, pulls him down again until he’s almost choking on it. His cheek bulges as he tries to swallow it and his eyes glitter with tears. Poe grips his jaw and fucks his face ruthlessly until the frictionless glide of Ren’s tongue and the back of his throat working around the head of his cock is too much. He pulls out and Ren coughs and wipes his mouth with the back of his gloved hand, saliva streaking over the black leather.

“Get up and face the wall.” Poe doesn’t bother taking the rest of his clothes off, nor does he strip Ren down past his outer robe. He fucks Ren like that, against the wall, stretches him open with his fingers until his hole is pink and gaping and he’s begging for it into his arm, his face hidden like he’s ashamed — and he probably is. The thought infuriates Poe. He sinks his teeth into Ren’s smooth, pale shoulder blade, right above a spattering of freckles, and hates that he wants to do this every day. He bites hard enough that it’ll bruise and Ren pushes back into him in response, clenches around him greedily.

He cups Ren’s balls and presses two fingers behind them, milks his prostate from the outside as he slides one hand up the shaft of his thick cock, and Ren comes with a muffled cry. Poe buries himself in Ren’s ass and pants into his shoulder, shuddering.

 

Three days of mind-numbing emptiness later, Ren returns.

Poe sits up on the bench, surprise warring with a residual anger that rises in him at the sight of Ren. “Do we get conjugal visits now?” he throws out.

“What?” Ren growls through the mask. “No. Stand up.” He cuffs Poe quickly and pushes him toward the door of the cell.

Poe goes, baffled. Ren marches him through the halls and stops him in front of a door. He taps a code into the pad next to it and it slides open with a gentle puff of pressure. On the other side is a hangar, empty of people. Poe looks back at him. This is all wrong, not what he expected at all.

“There’s a T-50 on the far end with one standard weeks’ worth of supplies and a modified hyperdrive. It’ll get you at least into the next sector.” Ren stands in the doorway, a still, dark silhouette.

“You’re letting me go,” Poe says uncertainly. He feels suddenly cast adrift.

“Here.” Ren holds out something. It’s the disc, low light winking off its edges. He hands it over. It’s heavy in the palm of Poe’s hand. He closes his fingers around it, looking back up at Ren.

“They’ll know it was you,” he says.

“It’ll look like an escape.” Ren says flatly. “The power in your cell block will have gone out. It would have been easy enough for you to pry the door open. You’re a resourceful man. Hux will have no trouble believing it.”

“That’s a load of crap, and you know it.” Poe folds his arms. “Come with me.”

“Why should I?” Ren says. “There’s nothing for me in your world.”

“There are protection clauses for you as an omega,” Poe says. A hand closes itself over his heart. He already knows the answer, knows that trying to convince Ren is futile.

“There’s protection if I want to submit myself to servitude,” Ren says disdainfully. “Kneel for you and never have a will of my own.”

“I would never force you to kneel,” says Poe. He grips his arms tightly, the desire to take Ren’s arm and _make_ him come giving lie to his words. “You’d face justice, yes. But maybe forgiveness as well.”

“I don’t seek forgiveness.”

“Look me in the eye when you say that,” says Poe.

Ren lowers his head and pulls the helmet off, holds it in both his hands. “I won’t come with you.” His voice is smaller, younger, but his eyebrows are drawn down into a decisive slant. Poe steps forward, feeling like there’s a vice around his ribs. Ren looks so determined, so full of wrongful conviction.

“Be careful,” he chokes out. It’s the closest he can come to saying ‘ _I care about you’._ He unfolds his arms and pulls Ren down into a fierce kiss.

Ren still looks stunned and lost when he turns and walks away. He climbs into the X-wing and buckles his helmet on, brings the engines online. When he flies her straight out of the bay, he doesn’t look back.


	7. epilogue

Poe eats, sleeps, and goes to meetings at General Organa’s request, but it’s mechanical. He barely tastes his food, and although he offers his opinions at the general assembly and participates in missions there’s a feeling of dissatisfaction in him that he can’t ignore. It drives him to spend endless hours in the fighter bay tuning up his fleet with unnecessary specificity and mumbling to BB-8, to the exclusion of his social obligations. The little droid is baffled by his behaviour and he feels poorly about it. His pilots are understanding, but there’s only so much moping even the most sympathetic of them can take — and he feels poorly about that, too. It’s not in his nature to be so self-indulgent with his emotions and it frustrates him to no end. Still, he can’t seem to break out of the funk.

At night he dreams: flashes of memory that aren’t his, faces he’s never seen, troubles that don’t touch him in his waking hours. He has some sense that they belong to Ren. In his dreams the emptiness in his chest grows to become cavernous and he misses someone with an intensity of feeling that borders on obsessiveness, the fixation of someone for whom human connections have often been tumultuous and unrewarding. He wakes up with his pillow inexplicably damp more than once.

“It’ll pass,” he tells BB-8 one day as they troubleshoot one of the X-wings which has been giving its pilot trouble with the landing gear. From the droid cockpit BB-8 chirps a noncommittal reply, clearly skeptical. He’s not so sure the droid is wrong, either.

It’s been two standard months since he arrived back on D’quar. His shoulder has mostly healed, leaving behind a handprint-sized web of scar tissue and pink, new skin, though his range of movement is still limited. He’s been on several smaller missions and logged countless hours of maintenance he hasn’t really needed to — they do have teams of mechanics and willing droids, in spite of the general short-handedness of the Resistance base. He feels like he _should_ be back to normal, and he’s no longer sure that it will pass. The fact that he can do nothing but wait doesn’t make it any easier.

 

It’s hardly a surprise to him, then, that when one night he has a dream that takes him halfway across the galaxy he wakes with a renewed — though possibly wrong-headed — sense of purpose. He knows it’ll be anything but easy to bring Ren in, but he can’t bring himself to care. The prospect of _doing something_ about this terrible ache that grips him seems to lighten the burden already.

 

He goes straight to the General that morning.

“I’m invoking the First Republican Law of Omegas,” he says, cutting to the chase. Leia looks up from her desk where she’s going over supply requisitions.

“You’re what?” She brushes the requisition forms off the screen with a wave of her hand and fixes her attention on him, her eyebrows raised in inquiry.

“Also, I request leave,” he continues. “Two weeks.”

She furrows her brow. “Not that I haven’t been expecting _that_ request given the state you’ve been in, but we can’t spare you right now. I’m sorry, Poe.”

“You’ve been sending me on fluff missions since I got back,” he points out, unmoved. “We have no heavy combat fronts right now — you can spare me for two weeks. Unless you physically restrain me, I’m going.”

She raises her hands. “Alright, I’m not going to put you in cuffs. Let’s discuss it. Sit down.”

The ancient chair creaks as he lowers himself into it.

“Is this about Neree?” she asks.

“You know that I requested not to discuss what happened on Neree in the post-mission brief,” he says, and she nods. “I wasn’t ready to submit it to record. I’m ready now. The truth is, I met an omega and the situation got messy.”

“I thought as much,” she says.

“Now I’ve been handed the opportunity to fix things,” Poe says. “I want to take it.”

Leia folds her hands before her, a habitual gesture. “I know it has always been important to you to find and foster that particular connection, but I’m sure you of all people understand that we cannot always set aside our lives to tend to matters of the heart.”

He shakes his head. “I do; of course I do. But this is my choice.”

Out of everyone Leia knows what it’s like to love someone and lose them — she’s known it time and time again. But there’s no way to explain the effect of a pheromonal bond, the constant, almost physical ache that dogs him, the bone-deep knowledge that this person is _for him_. “I had always hoped you’d be supportive when I found an omega,” he says.

“One for whom you need to invoke the First Law is not what I was imagining,” she replies. “I know I can’t direct you one way or the other — you will do as your principles demand, as you always have. But I want to help you make the right decision.”

“I think in this case there is no _right_ decision,” he admits. “Only the one that’s right for me.”

“So tell me why you’re willing to risk your reputation, your career, and our cause for something that will benefit only you,” she says sharply.

Poe winces. “Fair point.”

“You deserve happiness as much as any one of us — don’t misunderstand me — but quite frankly you’ve been miserable these last few months. It seems to me like this omega has already brought you nothing but pain.”

“I know it looks that way.” He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. Although his heart is determined, a part of him still fears that he’s making this decision because he’s terrified that the void in him will otherwise never be filled and he’ll be in the thrall of an unfinished bond until he dies. “I can’t tell you that everything will be fine after this. But I’ll do my best to make it worth your while if you help me.”

She regards him solemnly. “I know you’ll try.”

He leans forward in the chair. “I’ll tell you why, though,” he says. “I don’t love him — I hardly even know him. But I think he has the capacity to be a good person. And even if he’s nothing but trouble, the bond hurts him, too. He deserves happiness just as much as I do.” He takes a deep breath and lays down his trump card. “Also, he’s your son.”

 

In the end what he gets is not a rousing endorsement, by any means, but Leia agrees to give him time and means to do what he has to. She’s stunned by his admission, but is less moved than he’d hoped and yields very little in the way of resources or sympathy. She is, perhaps understandably, reserving optimism. He doesn’t doubt that it stings, too, the notion that he’s able to reach Kylo Ren in a way that she can’t.

He tells very few people where he’s going, or that he’s leaving at all. The trip will be a long one but he’s hoping Ren will meet him halfway. His dreams seem to indicate that Ren fled in haste and is traveling light.

There’s a lightness in his heart in spite of his worries, and he holds it close to him and lets it buoy him up out of the dark of empty space.

 

_Two weeks later:_

 

The taverna is crowded and smoky, rowdy with gamblers and drunks and the occasional pilot on shore leave. Poe fits in easily in a nondescript flight suit, peeled away from his chest and tied at the waist, and a pair of yellow-tinted glasses which let him pick the waifish blue-skinned servers out from the similarly blue smoke. He waves one down and orders another drink, trying to ignore the sharp spike of uncertainty rising in the pit of his stomach. He’s had three drinks already and is well on his way to joining the drunken mass. He’s also spent the last quarter of an hour eying the sabbac table and considering whether it would be better to lose all his money in an attempt to distract himself or to wallow in his disappointment.

Thinking better of it, he turns away and sets his glass down on the bar. From the corner of his eye he sees someone take the seat next to him, a tall man in a stained and battered jacket.

“You look like hell,” says the familiar voice.

Poe turns and his face breaks out into a grin without his permission, his heart leaping.

“I could say the same of you,” he says with a laugh, and launches himself at Ren.

Ren rocks back, wraps his arms tightly around Poe, and Poe buries his face in his neck. He smells the same, sweet and perfect and _right_ , and that empty place in him is filled up with the feeling of Ren in his arms, the hope that maybe everything will work out for them, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to post this in between writing chapters of Hat Trick, since it's finished and waiting to go up. Chapters will come every couple of days (:


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